


Momentum

by cassiopea (nina_monk)



Series: Twice the Man I Used to Be [7]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Incredible Hulk (2008), The Incredible Hulk - All Media Types
Genre: Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Body Image, Body Positivism, Body Worship, Chubby Bruce, Chubby!Bruce - Freeform, Control Issues, Eating Disorders, Feeder/Feedee dynamics, Feeding Kink, Feedist issues, Food Binging, Food Issues, Food Kink, M/M, Overeating, Science Boyfriends, Self-Esteem Issues, Stuffing, Weight Gain, Weight Issues, fat acceptance, fat admiration, feederism, food addiction, obesity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 08:43:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3804082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nina_monk/pseuds/cassiopea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Forty-two days after Bruce told Tony he was comfortable with his size, he suddenly finds himself bigger (yet happier) than ever. He thought his increased weight was due to his newly awakened passion for food, coupled with overcoming dangerous eating disorders. But this is only part of the reason.</p><p>Occurs forty-two days after “Measurement Theory.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Combustion

**Author's Note:**

> Again, for reference, here’s the _chronological_ order of the Twice the Man series (not posting order): The Bigger Man (overture); Friction, Inertia, Equilibrium, Circumference, Measurement Theory, and last but not least, Momentum.
> 
> Also, as always, thanks to my beautiful beta, Lia S.
> 
> (( _Additional (cosmetic) edits made during Aug 2016._ )) 
> 
> **Please heed the tags.**

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Although Bruce has learned to love his body, he learns some difficult truths about it, too.
> 
>  **(NSFW warning:** A large part of this chapter is moderately pornographic).

**Height:** 174.03 cm  
**Current Weight:** 156.13 kg  
**Days at Stark Tower:** 693

 

_Forty-two days._

Bruce chuckled. He mouthed the magical number, enjoying the roll of it on his lips as he input his current lab project's data. His thicker digits had no problems adding data points on his virtual keyboard, but they did remind him that he'd changed significantly over the months. He’d somehow morphed into a new type of Hulk, one of his own choosing - and yet he no longer minded; hell, the other day he’d floated on his back in the penthouse pool and giggled at his massive belly cresting over the water.

Fucking. _Giggled_.

Bruce smirked. Forty-two truly _was_ the perfect number for life, the universe, and everything.

His lascivious grin grew as he ghosted his fingers across the holographic screen. Last night Tony’s rough engineer’s hands had pinched, kneaded, and stroked his tubby frame, inching him towards climax via calculated strokes. 

“You’re positively edible, Banner,” Tony had purred. His lips traveled up and down Bruce's stomach, stealing delicate mousey nibbles off his skin.

“Mmm...candy-coated, or-- _rhnnn_ \--d-deep-fried?” He’d squirmed with each ticklish lap of Tony’s tongue, fighting down his body's chain reaction towards critical mass. 

Tony pinned him to the mattress, grinning like a jackass. “Either. Both. Depends.” He dipped his head, devouring Bruce’s love handles.

“Heh-ho-- _ohh_...”

“Eureka,” Tony crowed, cackling like a cartoon dictator.

Bruce groaned and tightened his grip on the sheets. 

He'd been prepared, all because they’d uncovered some new erogenous zones together, hidden between his newest layers of cuddly fluff. His boyfriend seemed determined to hit every one of them, as well as probe for new ones. But Tony hadn't penetrated him yet. He hadn't needed to.

“So what about...here?”

Bruce half-hiccuped, half-squawked. “Urk. _Hhnngh_ \--!”

“Mmm, I’ll take that as a yes.” Tony tugged his stomach, grabbing it as if he were kneading mounds of bread dough. “I love you, Brucie.” Calloused fingers skittered over his huge, heavy paunch. “You’re a work of art. I love every inch, every nook. Every hidden fold.”

He gasped when Tony gently pulled one of those abundant folds with his teeth. 

“ _Ahh_ \--!...T-Ton- _T_...”

“Grrr. Definitely yummy.” Tony’s expression darkened as he thumbed the layers between his lover’s legs. “And candy-coated, for sure.” 

Winding shaking fingers through Tony’s hair, Bruce yanked until Tony glanced his way. He was seconds from losing to his orgasm, but for all they were about to do, he toed the precipice, craving the answer to one final question. 

“A-Are you sure, Tony?” He rasped. “All of this ...fat--?”

Tony stopped dead. His agate eyes glittered like a knife point in the dark, stabbing at each and every doubt. “Yes. Absolutely. I love every atomic particle of you, baby. Every. Damn. Part.” Tony's lip quirked mischievously. “And let’s face it, the more there is of you, the more there is for _me_.”

His eyes must’ve telegraphed how much the answer pleased him because from that point on, Tony rode him like a tanker in rough seas. He broke, crashed, and broke again as Tony destroyed his lingering doubts with gusto. It had been the closest he’d come to Hulking out in ages but holy _fuck_ was it ever beautiful. 

They kept at it 'til dawn, which made him two hours late for the lab. But it had been 100% worth every strange look.

He licked his lips. Had Tony’s answer been selfish? Yes. Did he care? _Hell_ no. The answer had been exactly what he wanted to hear.

Bruce suddenly burst out another hearty chuckle and the sound pinged off the empty lab walls off the walls. All of these new emotions were overwhelming. He was drowning in pleasure, and he hadn't felt this way in well...ever. He didn't know where the swells originated, but he didn't mind swimming in a sea of serotonin. So what if he felt like a eight-year-old at Disneyland; it felt good just to feel... _good_. Never mind the where/when/how analysis.

Blinking, all of last night's warmth suddenly pooled in his belly. While clearing his throat he meekly checked the room (though the lab had been empty for hours), and decided it couldn't hurt if he examined last night's ghosts. He wouldn't mind reveling in the emotions a tiny bit more...

He shut his eyes, thumbing his body hickies beneath his sweater vest and reliving the memories. He remembered Tony’s hands plunging into his plushy sides, yanking him close for an emergency “Totoro hug.” He chewed his lip, remembering how Tony’s hands failed to loop around his midriff and instead grabbed giant fistfolds of wobbly, ticklish skin. Tony’s fingers had brushed across his striae; his lover had called the lines of his stretched skin, “claw marks of courage.” 

Rekindled by last night’s memories, Bruce sighed softly as he fondled his squishy marshmallow flab. His love handles pooled over his belt like overflowing soap bubbles in a sink. His doughy gut tilted over his thighs like soft, malleable taffy. Even his navel had deepened from a penny-sized dot to a cavern that could swallow his pointer finger whole. 

And the idea that he was a big man, a _huge_ man, no longer scared him. In fact, he almost...relished it. 

Shivering, Bruce coyly readjusted his clothing and shook his head. Honestly, what the hell was _wrong_ with him? He was an emotional roller coaster lately. Some days he couldn't stop laughing. Other days, he felt mired in darkness. Still others? _His_ anger, not the Hulk's, roared from the depths, snapping and barking like Cerberus to all nearby. He’d _never_ been this distracted over anything, least of all his own body. 

He had to get his mind off of it. Grabbing a pad of paper and a pen he dove into his work notes. Tony would've rolled his eyes at using something so “pedantic” as paper and pencil, but whatever. He needed something so he wouldn't remember Tony’s rough hands, pinching and squeezing his wobbly overhang like it was the last drop in a depleted tube of toothpaste--

_Goddammit._

Bruce shoved his glasses into his hairline and buried his face in his hands. Forty days ago he’d been ready to slow down...but that was before he accepted himself through Tony’s eyes. There was no way in hell _that_ could be wrong, because at long last, he was finally at peace.

But fucking hell...he shook his head. Was he supposed to feel _this_ emotional? Because that part wasn't logical. It wasn't natural. It wasn't--

...wasn't _bad_...?

Half-laughing, half-groaning, Bruce pulled his hands from his face and let his glasses plop back down, where they perched precariously on the edge of his nose. Sighing, he made some final annotations in his notes before shutting down for the evening and locking his results away. 

Until he spied a cute pink box on the edge of his desk. 

Humming, he opened the box and popped a custard-and-fruit zeppola in his mouth, the last of six. He moaned a little as the flavors excited his taste buds, and he couldn't help but give his stomach a satisfied pat as he chewed. Overindulgence was okay, he'd learned. Everyone did it on occasion, and sometimes people ate to feel better, simple as that. But more importantly for him, he'd learned to ignore what others thought. He chose to eat what he wanted and when, and if that meant a whole pint of ice cream or half a cake some days, then so be it. It was his choice, no one else's. 

On the flip side it still stung if he caught a judgmental frown but at least his teammates no longer shamed him if he reached for a fourth or fifth bread roll. They gave begrudging acceptance of his new body, if not their blessing.

Bruce dumped the empty pastry box in the trash and swiped away the crumbs, but he was surprised to hear his stomach rumble. Truthfully, his hunger had expanded as fast as his waistline. He'd measured the problem as a scientist, knowing each issue deserved careful consideration, but his increased girth brought with it realistic negatives. His clothing budget was ridiculous (not that Tony cared) but he objected on principle. And moving itself had become problematic: if he didn't accidentally knock things over with his girth, he became winded after walking too many steps (though honestly that was more from not exercising. He could work out, if he wanted, but heavy exercise honestly didn't appeal to him).

Sighing, Bruce toppled into a chair, not missing how lately the springs were creaking and moaning louder than in days past. Occasionally he cataloged what he ate, and he noticed he ate about the same and expended the same amount of energy as last month, but admittedly, his gains were snowballing. He was no nutritionist, but he knew a _little_ about basic metabolic processes with all his constant monitoring of the Hulk. So if he consistently gained at this speed-- 

His throat bobbed. Maybe...he should apply some gentle brakes - nothing triggering of course, just enough to see the bigger picture. So to speak.

“Jarvis?” He waved his hand, activating the virtual screens.

“How may I be of service, Dr. Banner?”

He glanced over the 3-D keyboard and reached for his leftover mug of tepid chamomile. He paused and fidgeted the mug in his hands. “How much hidden data is cross-listed against my current health parameters?”

Jarvis paused; there wasn't necessarily anything the AI _shouldn't_ say in regards to that question, however--

“I’m afraid I’m unable to comply without specifics, Dr. Banner.”

Bruce smirked and sipped from his mug, then pulled a sour face; chamomile was absolutely wretched cold. “All right,” he sighed, tapping the mug with a chubby thumb. Jarvis couldn't be more specific due to the blocks Tony had up, but sometimes it was all about asking the right questions. 

“Then, assuming the same parameters, can you tell me how many new entries have been added over the past month?”

Another pause. Longer, this time. “Six-hundred, seventy-two,” Jarvis finally stated.

He nearly dropped his mug. “Holy shit-- _seriously_?” 

He peered at the screen, but the hard data was encoded. It would have to be translated before he could dissect any of it. “Jarvis, is my health data associated with one of Tony’s algorithmic programs?”

“Yes, Dr. Banner, though Sir has not checked that subroutine for several weeks.”

Frowning, Bruce unconsciously drummed his fingers across the widest part of his belly. Tony normally recorded everything anyway, but this was a bit much. 

“Could you tell Tony I’d like to see him? And when he gets here, could you upload that information to my personal workstation?”

“Of course, Doctor Banner. I will need his full authority if you need to access all of your data, however.”

“I know. Thanks, Jarvis. That’s all I need, for now.” 

As Bruce sighed his stomach protested again, as if he hadn't eaten in days. Lately, it seemed he could never get enough and he was always hungry. He chuckled; better than always angry, he supposed. He glanced at the clock; it was seven on the dot and his response was positively Pavlovian. He suddenly craved a double-stacked burger, curly fries, a milkshake...or maybe a double-cheese, stuffed crust pizza--

His stomach growled more insistently.

Bruce nervously pawed the curls tickling his neck. Er...yeah. He’d come full circle on his food issues, no doubts on that front.

Fortunately, before he could debate the merits of his dinner choices, he caught Tony’s whistle echoing down his lab's steps. 

Smiling softly, he threw a glance over his shoulder. “Hey, Tony.”

“Hey, back. What up, Buttercup?” 

“Besides the ceiling? Nothing special.” 

Bruce’s eyes hovered over Tony’s ratty jeans and band shirt as his boyfriend jogged over. He gulped to hide the hitch in his throat, impossibly turned on by his attire. He didn't understand it, but seeing Tony in scruffy, casual clothes ramped his libido to eleven. Sometimes, when they felt particularly frisky, Tony’s clothes choices prompted an a quickie. In fact, there'd been a few times where people (friends, fortunately) commented on stray stains or oily hand prints on on the hems of his work shirts, or on his cheek and neck. One time he had to completely change from his tan khakis in the middle of the day, because _nobody_ could overlook Tony’s hand grab _there_.

Tony squeezed Bruce's shoulder and gestured to his chin. “You've got a little something there.”

“I do?” 

“Yep.” Bruce blinked and reached for his face, but Tony was quicker. “Me.” Tony went for a deep kiss, and he groaned in his chest. The kiss probably would've continued until they became a puddle of tangled, naked limbs on the anti-fatigue mat, but Tony actually pulled from him first. His face broke into a confused smirk, and he tentatively smacked his lips. 

“Hmm...” Tony’s lips dragged into a wider grin. “Custard--? How ‘bout that, you really did have something there.”

“Indeed.” Bruce's tongue cautiously darted and lapped the remaining dried custard on his mouth, but he didn't miss the dark grin spreading on Tony’s face. “Early evening snack,” he murmured, letting his lips purse slowly as he continued tonguing the dried custard. He almost chuckled when Tony adjusted his pants.

“Banner...”

“What, it’s just custard,” he said innocently.

“Uh, huh.”

God, he was a terrible tease, but he considered it payback for all the beautiful torture he’d endured the night before. Fortunately part of him fought his very flirty, very filthy thoughts. _Focus, Banner. You have important things to talk about._

Bruce effectively doused their flirtatious banter by clearing his throat and tapping his keyboard's space bar. “Did you come from the garage?”

Tony nodded, and dug into his pocket to hand Bruce a large Castronovo chocolate bar. The chocolate was too expensive for his meager palate, but Bruce recognized the spirit in which it was given and took it gently and gratefully. He slowly unpeeled the wrapper like a banana. 

Sighing, Tony draped his arms down Bruce’s chest and rested his chin on his shoulder while he ate. “Retrofitted one of my lesser babies with repulsor tech.” Bruce hummed softly and nodded at him, but he was more fixated on the candy. “I think Stark Industries could actually mass market alt fuels to car manufacturers within the next few years, with the way I've got it running. I’m updating the equipment so any garage mechanic worth their salt can fix the retrofits with minimum training.”

“Sounds incredible.” Bruce had inhaled the candy bar in a few quick bites, and was now sucking the stray chocolate globs from his fingers. He grunted quietly with each slow, gentle suck, and it wasn't entirely intentional; the chocolate was quite good. But he also knew Tony was watching him with his own hungry, greedy eyes. 

“Not as incredible as you, Banner.”

Bruce deep-throated his thumb and brought it out with a loud _pop_. “Sap.” 

Glancing up he watched Tony’s pupils dilate, wide and dark and full of wicked promises. His boyfriend lazily snaked his hands beneath his vest and he shivered when Tony’s warm fingers trickled over the strained buttons of his shirt. “Hmm...you could've told me.” Tony’s thumb gently stroked over the bubbles of flab puckering the fabric of Bruce's shirt, while his voice became a deep, needy chuckle echoing in his ear. “We could’ve gone shopping yesterday.”

Bruce whimpered and weathered his plump lips between his teeth during Tony’s soft, erotic touches. “The vest did its job,” He ground out. “It hid-- _mmm_ \--h...how tight--the tightness of my shirt. Besides, we visited your tailor two weeks ag--” he gasped when Tony deftly flicked open a shirt button and began tracing tiny, concentric circles across his teeming gut.

“Irrelevant,” Tony growled. But then, perhaps because of the effect they were having on each other (and of how very public they were), Tony removed his hand, redid the buttons with difficulty, and gave Bruce's tummy a few solid whacks. And so what if his eyes lingered a little too long as he viewed the jiggly aftershocks. 

“I like being with you when you get measured and try on stuff.”

Swallowing, Bruce nodded. Tony’s statement contained a lot of hidden meaning: His lover’s pupils would darken whenever their (exasperated) tailor had to _once again_ send off for more bolt, or if he had to contact a specialized retailer, to see if they had a pattern for the “high-end” sizes. Usually he grabbed something off-the-rack from Nordstrom’s big-and-tall section and then had it altered as necessary, or he ordered clothes online. But apparently Tony had some kind of measuring tape kink, which had settled in nicely with all of his _other_ kinks... 

“Feelin’ okay?”

Shaking off the fogginess of his brain, Bruce kissed Tony’s forearm, and deliberately avoided the immediate question. “Maybe a little sore,” he said, alluding to the previous night. “But nothing I can’t handle.”

Tony’s voice dipped and he waggled his brows. “Sorry. Couldn’t help it. I was starving.”

“Mmm, I could tell.” His own cocky smirk faded. “Speaking of starving, I was wondering if we could grab dinner together, if you haven’t eaten already.”

“Yeah, sure.” Tony checked his watch, then wiggled free to hop on the desk. “Huh, forgot the time. Guess I was working a while.”

“Did you eat at all today?”

Tony opened his mouth, then shut it. Bewilderment glossed his features. “I honestly have no idea.”

“Well, that’s no good. Can’t have people thinking I’m eating for three.”

Tony glowered, but Bruce simply waved his hand at him because he wasn't belittling himself. He could joke around about his size without falling into self-deprecating humor. He was fat, yes, but he could openly say it now without blushing because it had become _his_ reclaimed word. Fat put distance between him and his abusive father, and fat allowed him to revel in his own choices. He owned the word. It was _his_. Not the Hulk’s, not Tony’s, not his peers, and not his past’s. 

And that felt fucking amazing.

Tony grumbled and came back over, and rested his chin on the top of his head while gesturing to one of Jarvis’ virtual displays. “I’d love to believe that you called me down here to have wild, passionate lab sex, but I doubt that’s the case.” 

Bruce's fingers drummed the console, smile fading. “No. I...um. It’s not.”

Tony paused and then, intuiting the truth, softly brushed Bruce's cheek with his thumb. “I was wondering when you were gonna bring that up. It’s been over a month, Bruce, and back then you seemed pretty adamant.”

“Yeah.” He looked down and away. “I know. But I...I think part of that was panic.” 

“And you’re not panicking now?”

Bruce shook his head. “No. Not...now.”

Tony caught the hitch in his voice. “Meaning--?”

“Well.” He shyly eyed Tony over his spectacles. “Let’s just say I found my self-esteem.”

“Ah- _hah_.” Tony pulled back and bounced on the balls of his feet. “So I gave Stella back her groove, last night.”

Bruce stifled a laugh and gazed into his monitor. “Or something similar. Although to be fair, liking myself and rediscovering who I am doesn’t seem consistent with recent data points.”

“Oh?”

He paused, stroking his double chin. “I’m a little hesitant to check, though. I mean, what if--”

“Nuh uh,” Tony said, cutting him off. “You’ve come light years, Bannerman. I doubt there’s a triggering bone left in your body.”

“Well I wouldn’t go that far. But you’re right in some sense; I’m not the same as before. Mentally, or physically.”

But Tony had stopped listening; he was focused on something deep in his head, and Bruce hated seeing that look in his eye. Tony didn’t do introspection unless he was hiding or running from something. Bruce lips curved to a frown. He'd have to ignore it until Tony brought up, but hopefully Tony would.

Bruce gestured to the virtual display. “I had Jarvis download all he could, but he needs your final password. Could you send the decoded data to my personal monitor?”

Tony chewed a corner of his lip and lightly scraped his mustache with his teeth. “Yeah. Okay.”

“What--?”

“Nothing.”

 _Dammit, you’re lying_ , he wanted to accuse, but Tony’d buried it. His boyfriend was already flitting like a hummingbird to the next task. 

His frown deepened. 

“Jarvis,” Tony mumbled. “Unlock Dr. Banner’s data core. All of it. My authority, oral unlock: Alpha-A-two-seven epsilon, slash-four-beta. Transfer the results to his work terminal.”

“Very good, Sir.”

Tony turned to him. “You sure you don’t want to use the virtual screens? It’d be easier.”

He shook his head; he didn’t want his information displayed big as life, so to speak. “Easier for you, maybe,” he grumbled. ”Sometimes all those floaty displays give me a headache. I’m old school and not as scatterbrained as you are.”

Tony reared back, comically insulted. “ _Scatter_...? Oh, ho, no you _didn’t_. Them’s fightin’ words, Doctor Banner.” He made a face and pointed to Bruce’s toes. “At least I’m not wearing a shoe-affront to humanity.”

“What are you talking about?” He wiggled his feet. “These are comfortable.”

“No. Crocs are an affront to anyone who wears shoes.” Tony stabbed another finger at Bruce’s feet. “You know why they’re called Crocs? Because they’re crocks of sh--”

“Tony,” he admonished, but his lips fought a grin. 

“Fine, fine,” Tony huffed, breaking free from their deflection contest. “Let’s see what we’ve got.” As Tony overreached, Bruce playfully swatted his hand, but inwardly he sighed, knowing it was time to face the truth. 

Tony tapped the screen a few times. Data folders flooded the monitor, and Bruce adjusted his glasses for closer inspection; Tony, on the other hand continued eyeing him with arms crossed, scrutinizing his moves like a hawk on a rabbit. 

Bruce briefly checked over his shoulder. “Are you gonna hover over me like a parole officer?”

“So what if I am?” Tony straddled a lab chair backwards. “Ignore me.”

Bruce frowned, not liking Tony’s curt response, but didn’t address it. After opening the first file that Jarvis helpfully labeled _Banner Health Data_001_ , he carefully combed over his first month at the Tower. All of the information was consistent with what he already knew, but he needed the baseline, a standard, to plot the changes. 

Opening the second folder, he began the slow process of finding patterns to graph the inconsistencies; it would take hours to comb through the first month. That, and he needed time comparisons. Each individual month would have to be meticulously scrutinized. Needle in a haystack didn’t cover it. 

After a few minutes, Tony swore quietly under his breath and scooted his chair closer. “You’re taking forever. You should just look at today’s results and compare them to your arrival.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Really? Is that your secret to success? Cutting to the end without researching anything else?”

“You’re a big boy and you can filter through the rest of this shit yourself,” Tony said, gesturing to the screen. “I will say it’s ten times faster if you just ask Jarvis to sort through the deviations, but seeing that you’re hell-bent on doing everything the hard way, then--”

“Oh, trust me, I’ve cut corners in my life, but I’m trying to do less of that, these days.” Tony fell silent; really, Bruce knew wasn’t fair to throw his darkest quips at him, but he always did say - and do - stupid things, when he felt edgy. He fidgeted; he wasn't sure if it was his own nerves, or Tony’s eyes boring into his back that put him ill at ease. 

“Okay,” he finally sighed. “What aren’t you saying?” 

Tony took too long to respond, and Bruce rolled back his chair to stare at him. 

“‘Fess up, Tony.”

Tony canted his head cautiously. “You sure you want my help?”

He knew Tony kept tabs on him, but he’d thought it was to satisfy his ugly intellectual curiosity. Not that he minded; since the day he collapsed, there were few secrets between them. But he could handle the truth about his weight. Plus there was probably more to it, the way Tony acted, and he’d rather have the full truth now than fumble around for weeks with piecemeal data.

He ran a cautious tongue across his lips. “Probably.”

“No maybes, Bruce. All or nothing.” 

Irritated, he raked a pudgy hand through his too long, too unruly curls. “Tony. Don’t keep secrets from me.”

“That's good," Tony said, nodding slowly. "That's a good start.” Pausing, he stroked his chin. “Maybe you should ask Jarvis about your current stats.”

“Why? Today’s datapoint would be an outlier without a baseline.” Bruce's brow darkened. “Are you trying to test me?”

“What?” Tony screwed up his face. “No, of course not. C’mon, seriously--?” He folded his arms and glared at Bruce. “Jarvis. Give me Dr. Banner’s current weight.”

“One hundred fifty-six, point one-three kilograms - or three hundred, forty-four pounds.” 

“Wow.” Bruce's jaw nearly unhinged as he shifted in his chair, and he did a double-take at his massive midriff. “Um...oops--?”

Tony softened and squeezed his shoulder. “You all right?”

“Yeah, I think so. I didn’t...I mean, I sort of knew, but that’s...” he gulped nervously. “That’s a lot of fucking weight gain in a month.”

“Forty-two days.”

Bruce stopped short of another double-take, surprised that Tony’d counted the days right along with him. “Regardless,” he sighed, “it’s still a hell of a lot - it...it’s almost a pound a _day_.” He blew a puff of air through his rounded cheeks and ran a shaky hand through his curls. “Is...is this part of becoming ‘body comfortable’ or body positive, or whatever the fuck it’s called? Because being this fat is one thing. But Jesus, Tony, I can’t possibly continue packing on--”

Tony shushed and pressed his thumbs through the tightening knots in his back and Bruce relaxed into him; Tony’d taken a few massage classes for their anniversary, and he was damn glad he did. 

“Calm down, Banner,” Tony murmured, waiting until Bruce ran a hand over his forehead and sunk back into his chair. “Most correlations with weight and body positivity prove the exact opposite, by the way.”

Bruce peeked under his hand. “So you’ve researched it, too.”

“Some.” 

“Then what’s the answer?” He took a few deep breaths to pacify Tony, but his chair groaned loudly as he leaned forward and tapped the screen. “Admittedly, I’m eating a ton, but not enough to precipitate _that_ much of a weight jump. What the hell is going on?”

“Umm...” Tony’s squeak was far too suspicious. Bruce whirled to stare at him, but his boyfriend was peering at something across the room and scratching the back of his neck. 

“Tony...?”

“Sorry.” Tony refocused, targeting his laser- glare on Bruce. “Babe,” he finally sighed. “How tall are you?”

“Five-six and some change. Ever since I passed puberty, one hundred, sixty-nine centimeters. So?”

“When's the last time you checked?”

Bruce knit his brows, ready to dismiss the question as dumb and devoid of merit, but then...it clicked. Blood pooled from his face as his eyes darted to the ceiling. “J-Jarvis,” he stuttered. “What’s my current height?”

The AI didn’t prepare him for the blow. “Dr. Banner, your current height is one hundred seventy-four, point oh-three centimeters - or nearly five-feet, nine inches tall.”

His throat dried to dust. “ _What_ \--? My God...that can’t...I _can't_ be--”

Tony babbled something, as if the sound of his words could be enough to change anything. Ignoring him, Bruce’s fingers flew across the keyboard as he reviewed his latest endocrine statistics. He ran a shaky hand across his mouth as soon as the first numbers marched across the screen but he was speechless, stunned to silence, until he finally heard the tail end of Tony’s rant. 

Then, suddenly, his paused feelings surged at full-speed.

“I thought, maybe, you were wearing lifts,” Tony finished, “‘cause some guys are into that or whatever but you didn’t seem the type and--”

“You _knew_ \--?” He spun on Tony. “You knew about this, and you didn’t _tell_ me?”

Tony held up his hands, affecting surrender, but his expression hardened. “Suspected. I thought you would’ve seen it by now, so I thought... _hell_ , Bruce, when you don’t slouch, we’re almost eyeball to eyeball. I figured you would’ve noticed.”

Bruce cursed and pounded a fist on his desk, causing his keyboard to jump and a pencil to skitter across the floor. “God-fucking-dammit, Tony! This--” he said, ripping his glasses from his face and stabbing the monitor, “-- _this_ is important! Don’t you realize what it _means_?”

“Yeah, I do,” Tony said, hoping, maybe, that a softer tone would help, but he was beyond done and they both heard his watch buzz. “But I thought--”

“What, Tony?” Bruce curled his fingers into double fists. _No_. The monster wouldn’t have him today. Hulk had _no right_...God, what a fucking joke. Here he thought he was the one in control of at least this one, tiny thing in his fucking life. But surprise, surprise. The monster had him. Controlled him again. In every. Conceivable. Way. 

“You thought I didn’t need to know?” He slapped his stomach sharply enough to resonate an echo. “That, oh, I dunno, gaining over eighty kilograms and shooting up six centimeters wasn’t relevant?”

“Bruce,” Tony growled. “Stop it. It wasn’t. Not until--”

He clenched his teeth. “When.”

Tony grimaced and ran a hand over his jaw. “A month or so after I blocked you, I started seeing it. You don’t always stand up straight, so I didn’t get it right away.”

Bruce folded his arms and shook his head. He shot Tony a vicious grin, and the dark chuckle in his throat was deadly. “So I was your little experiment? So...so, what, you wanted to see how big I could get? How long it would take until Hulk turned me into h--” He heaved, biting off the rest of his sentence. 

“That’s not fucking fair.” Tony was suddenly shouting; his cheeks whitened with fury. ”You can’t pin this all on the Hulk. _You_ wanted it, Bruce. You knew what you needed to survive, and so what, maybe the Hulk somehow encouraged it with your height, but Hulk’s not the one who--”

“--made me so fucking _fat_?” He spat. “Go on, say it,” he hissed, “it’s on the tip of your fucking forked tongue.”

Tony shook his head and ran a hand over his beard, suddenly exhausted. “You had an eating disorder,” he said quietly. “Maybe still have one, I don’t know - only you know that for sure. You were starving yourself, and then you decided to eat.” Bruce turned his back, which Tony saw as a license to raise his voice. “And so fine, you got _fat_ ,” he said, tossing up his hands. “But you can’t sit there and tell me you didn’t enjoy it, and you can’t sit there and tell me you’re not in better mental shape than you were twenty months ago.”

Bruce rocketed from his seat, knocking his chair to the floor. “But it still wasn’t my choice!” His watch buzzed again, and Tony’s eyes briefly flitted to gauge the trembling and creeping color in his hands. “He made it happen, he’s _still_ making it happen, just like he’s always--”

“Hey, hey,” Tony murmured, quietly reaching for him. “Calm down. We’ll figure out. We can--”

“Get off me.” He nearly tripped over his chair when he backpedaled from Tony’s grasp. “Don’t. Don’t touch me. Not right now. I gotta--” he searched wildly around the room, searching for the stairs, and he rushed to them as quickly as he could, hating how that small act left him out of breath. He paused long enough to peel off his lab coat and hang it on a hook.

“I need to go for a walk. I--I need...I need to clear my head.”

“Okay.”

“No,” Bruce said, setting his jaw. “It’s not okay. Not this time, not when you’re part of the problem. Just...give me time to breathe. I’m fine, I’m under control, I just--” he licked his lips and looked at the floor, searching for invisible patterns in the tile. “I need to think, Tony. Give me time to fucking _think_.”

And he made the mistake of turning back to see those huge brown eyes, full of an apology he wasn’t ready to see. Or hear. Part of him wanted to run back and kiss the life out of him. The other part couldn’t stand him.

Tony broke contact first, looking down as he rubbed his thumb across Bruce’s desk. “You comin’ back tonight?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t--” He held up a hand and then let it flop to his side. “Possibly.”

Tony nodded and continued tracing a line across the desk without looking up. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for not telling you sooner.”

“Me too,” he said, lumbering from the lab. He didn’t look back or say another word as the door slammed behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funny enough, the whole idea of Bruce’s varied height actually came from some controversial data regarding Mark Ruffalo’s height. Fans have been fighting over Mr. Ruffalo’s actual height for a while now, and some put him around 5’6” (http://www.celebheights.com/s/Mark-Ruffalo-618.html) while other official reports put him at 5’8.5” or 5’9”” (http://www.celebritiesheight.com/mark-ruffalo-height-and-weight/): I figured I’d play with those numbers, and use my own artistic license for Bruce.


	2. Displacement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony comes to terms with his kinks, and how they’ve negatively affected Bruce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Gentle warning:** This chapter dips into fetish territory (feeder/feedee dynamics).

When Tony rolled over and saw 1:57 on the digital clock face, he stopped pretending to sleep and slipped on jeans and a t-shirt. "J," he mumbled, rubbing his face. "Has Bruce gotten back yet?"

"Dr. Banner has yet to return to the Tower, Sir."

He grunted and scrubbed his face with his palms. "Thanks, J."

"Of course, Sir."

He wasn't sure why he bothered, but he pulled on a dark hoodie and his favorite running shoes and slipped out of the tower and into the night. He’d convinced himself that Bruce needed time to wind down. He’d even thought about calling Rhodey at such an ungodly hour, simply because the man had been so right about the situation. But there really wasn't anything Rhodey could do, except impart advice at 2am. 

Still, this was his fault, not Rhodey's, and he had to figure it out the best way he could.

 _Yeah. Genius, right here,_ Tony snarled. _Right._

A chilly breeze stung his cheeks as he stalked down the street. It wasn't terribly unusual to have a chill this early in September, but it was brisker than normal. He inhaled sharply; he would've layered with a sweater, if he'd known how cold it would be.

Tony stumbled around for an hour, blearily taking in the busy throngs of people up and down the Manhattan streets. Pretty busy for a Friday night - well, Saturday morning, now - and he fought down a shiver. It wasn’t from the cold, though he knew why he was shaking: the bars had let out.

The old, familiar ache ground at him like a dentist’s drill. He’d danced that razor’s edge far too often, but he'd learned to drink moderately for Bruce’s sake and his own. Still, didn’t mean he wasn’t tempted. Tony shook his head. He’d make it though. For himself. For Bruce. And besides, at least one of them needed to be clear-headed tonight.

A plume of cold air curled from his nose as he plunked down on a crumbling stone wall; he'd somehow stumbled upon a picnic area overlooking the East River. The gentle lapping of the waves against the shore briefly quieted his thoughts as party yachts glided across the water, but his mind kept fighting it, taunting him that Bruce probably ran off, like a kid having a tantrum. But eventually he shook it off. Bruce needed space to process, that's all. He’d be good as new, once he got it out of his system.

Hopefully.

Sighing, Tony bumped his foot against a table. They should’ve talked months ago, but they hadn’t been ready for it. It hadn't been a "thing" back then and Bruce was fine, just...bigger. But now, and this was what he had trouble articulating, they’d uncovered more than a few of his hidden kinks together, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do about it.

At first it was easy. He’d been trying to get Bruce to accept himself, and his new so-called kinks lined up with what Bruce wanted, and needed. But he hadn’t been 100% honest with Bruce, and fuck if that didn’t speak to a really dark part of his soul. He couldn’t help it; he enjoyed watching Bruce tuck into huge amounts of food with gusto. It was such an antithesis to before. Such a testament to how far Bruce had come.

But some of that came to a crossroads, in the few hours before their last epic love making session. For lunch, Tony had taken Bruce to one of his favorite Asian restaurants. They had headed towards their booth, in their private room - as per their usual routine - when Bruce had stopped dead in his tracks.

“I’m not going to fit in there,” Bruce'd muttered, lamely gesturing to the booth.

He had already slipped into it and moved the table closer to him, as he’d done all the other times. “What? Of course you will. I’ll just move the table closer in.”

Bruce’s expression soured. “I barely fit a month ago.”

“It’s not a problem,” he’d insisted. He scooted the table until it had begun pinching his chest. “See?’

Not wanting to cause a scene, and before their personal server could head over to ask if they needed anything, Bruce took in a huge breath and attempted to squeeze inside. But Bruce had been right; the tight squeeze was way too tight, and Tony found it just as hard to breathe as Bruce, when the table pinched their midsections beyond comfort. Despite the mobility of the table, the booth seats were fixed, and there was absolutely no more room for both them and the table.

He let out a half-gasp that had spilled into laughter. “Now I know how a sausage feels,” he chuckled. He’d felt a not-so-small bit of arousal watching Bruce uncomfortably maneuver his fat around the booth, but he tamped it down when Bruce’s cheeks colored red from embarrassment.

“Bruce--”

“No, no. Forget it.” He grunted painfully and slowly squished his way out, so as not to hurt either one of them. “We’d die of asphyxiation before we’d ever get a chance to eat.” He nodded to a chair. “Let’s just sit at an open table.”

He gave the chairs a dubious look. “Uh, I dunno about that.” He did some preliminary calculations. He didn’t want to hurt Bruce’s feelings, but he could tell just by looking that in a contest between the decorative bamboo chairs and Bruce’s bulk, Bruce’s bulk would win. Hands down.

“I can ask ‘em for a smaller table for the booth.”

“Too much trouble,” Bruce waved him off. “Bamboo is pretty strong.” He toed the seat. “I bet it can hold me. Plus, it’s more comfortable than the booth.”

Tony tsked between his teeth and winced as Bruce began gently lowering his posterior into a chair. “Er, Bruce, I don’t think--”

He caught their server rushing over and calling out, “no, no, you shouldn’t” at the same time the loud, gunshot-decibel _crack_ echoed throughout the restaurant as the chair seat split. Fortunately, the chair held enough that Bruce didn’t fall on his ass, but it had been a very lucky thing.

Of course chaos erupted seconds later. For a good ten minutes he, Bruce, and the server - and then another, when the restaurant owner joined in - were apologizing profusely and finding better accommodations, and grabbing reinforced chairs and so on and so forth. Tony and the restaurateur had laughed a little about it, and he got to use his (very) rusty Cantonese to try and make light of the uncomfortable situation. The large tip he gave the server and the owner covered the damage to the chair, as well as compensated them for their above and beyond service.

Still, the damage to Bruce’s ego had been done. The man picked at his lunch (for Bruce “barely touched” meant another person’s light lunch), and he remained quiet during their meal. He'd made light of it, but Bruce’s esteem plummeted from the event. Sad, because they’d been making so much progress; Bruce had started really enjoying himself.

“It’s no big deal,” he told Bruce when they finally returned to the Tower. He put the leftovers in the fridge, determined to feed Bruce the remainder, later in the afternoon. “So one little chair broke. It’s not the end of the world.”

Bruce glared at him while grabbing a Coke from the fridge. 

“Seriously, it could’ve happened to anybody.”

“No, it couldn’t have,” Bruce he said darkly. He chugged half the soda and quietly burped. “It wouldn’t have happened to Steve. Or Clint. Or Natasha.”

“It would’ve happened if I were in the suit." 

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Yeah. You would’ve clunked around an Asian restaurant, wearing your armor. Riiiight.” He finished his drink and crushed the can in a meaty fist. Tony could’ve mentioned how much that can crushing turned him on, but he wisely didn’t. “We can’t go there anymore.”

“Oh, c’mon,” he said, rolling his eyes. He padded over to his couch and gestured to Bruce to sit, which he grudgingly did. “Sure, you’re a big dude. But so’s a third of the US population. The owner at the restaurant mentioned that he’d been thinking of remodeling anyway, so you did him a favor.”

Bruce shook his head, and he tried again. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Bruce. Hell, you know how I feel. My only goal in life is worshiping your beautiful booty and all the ground you walk on.”

That elicited a small chuckle, at least. “It hit home, though.”

“What did?”

“How large I am. How...problematic things are. I should be more careful.” Bruce got up and paced a little. He could practically hear the shouts of Brian Banner’s taunts from across the room, and he got up to halt Bruce in mid-pace.

“Hey,” he murmured, touching Bruce’s shoulder. “You know I don’t care either way, right? It’s all about you. About your feelings, about everything." Bruce had stared at his feet - or maybe it was fair to say he stared down, because the ability to see his feet was lost a hundred pounds or so ago.

“Hm.”

He'd slung an arm around Bruce's shoulder. "When you came here, you were the size of a swizzle stick, and you looked ready to bolt to Antarctica any time someone said your name. In the few years you've lived with me, you've finally settled in. You're comfortable. You eat. You snack. You lay around watching shitty movies with me, and you no longer pace like a caged tiger. You’re finally free from your crappy father’s influences, Bruce - that’s a huge win, man."

Something stuck, at least a little bit, as Bruce shifted his feet. "Maybe,” Bruce muttered, but a scowl marred his features. “But," he said, jiggling his substantial stomach, “this is huge too, and there’s a point of having too much of a ‘good’ thing. I’m enormous, Tony. Tell me I’m wrong.”

He bit back the casual grin at seeing Bruce’s barrel of fat. The man definitely put on a good amount again, and as lovely as he was, Tony had to admit he was literal part of the growing problem.

"So?" Never known for his tact, he’d lightly thumped Bruce's belly as if testing a melon for ripeness. Bruce pinked right up, but all that doughy softness was positively mesmerizing. He’d reached over to squeeze Bruce's chub, but Bruce slapped his arm down, and lightly shoved him back.

"Stop that!" Bruce had given his stomach a gentle caress while he drank him in. His boyfriend’s midsection was certainly huge, no lie there, but so was the rest of him. Two bows of fat surrounded his cheeks and created twin sets of jowls that emphasized his double-chin. Bruce's back had become a broad rectangle with thick, blubbery handles and his back had the beginnings of a cute little shelf-butt which, in time, would become something new to squeeze and covet. Tony's mind raced back to the few times in the past year when Bruce mumbled something about having fingers too fat to button his pants, and...yeah. Maybe he'd been imagining how many problems Bruce might encounter, and maybe those darker thoughts had made him go overboard.

Bruce was beyond handsome as a fatty, in his opinion.

“Okay, okay,” He'd told Bruce. Sighing he'd dialed it down because Bruce was mad, and he didn’t want that. “I’m sorry.”

Bruce was still steamed. “That was…wildly inappropriate.”

“Excuse me?” He couldn’t still his grin. “You do know who you’re living with, right?”

“Regardless, you can’t—you just don’t…”

“Don’t what?” He purred, and gently came behind Bruce. He wrapped his arms around as far as he could and sunk his hands into Bruce’s fatty hips while gently kneading his bulging sides.

Bruce relaxed into his touch. “Touch you? _Squeeze_ you? Babe, you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. You’re gorgeous to me. Just like this.”

Bruce huffed softly. “You say that now, but there’s a point of diminishing returns.”

“Not to me,” he said, nuzzling Bruce’s neck. Bruce unconsciously hummed deep in his throat. “I’m never gonna leave you, Brucie. I love you. All of you.”

Which became the prelude to last night, and the best love making session they’d ever had, as partners.

Tony licked his lips. Even now, there was more he saw that Bruce didn’t: Bruce would lovingly shut his eyes when he gorged, as if filtering each morsel of food through all his senses. Sometimes Tony caught Bruce moaning as he stuffed himself, and sometimes those moans morphed to porcine, blissed-out grunts, and...oh, man. _Those food grunts_. Shot heat straight to his groin.

So yeah, eating had become erotic...for both of them

Darker still, sometimes Bruce stuffed himself beyond full for the hell of it and from there, the two of them played...darker games. Where Tony encouraged his boyfriend to eat just a bit more, just to see how much he could pack away, past his point of fullness, just to watch--

Tony sighed heavily, and a new trail of vapor curled from his nose. He wasn’t a damn psychiatrist, and didn’t want to go there, but they were both pretty fucked up, despite how much they enjoyed it. Bruce finally loved food too much to slow down. While he, on the other hand, was such a damn prick about it, and a voyeur to boot. It’d only go downhill from here. It really was time to be more honest with each other, before they passed some kind of point of no return and lost their relationship entirely to the kink.

Disgusted, he frowned and rubbed his cheeks. It frustrated him. He hated not having adequate tools to fix something, whether that had to do with other people or worse, himself.

Trying to ignore his mood, Tony let his eyes scan the area. Most seemed to be rowdier on the streets, but some folks had moved closer to him, to partake of the food trucks lining the edge of the park street. The caravan of a dozen or so trucks were racking up bonus points with drunks and party monsters. The food truck groupies had scattered across a small section of the tables; some macked on their partners, others sat on the tables themselves and absently kicked the benches while they munched burgers, yakatori, gyros, and tacos. The rest were solitary folks without food - homeless, maybe, or too drunk to care what happened to them.

Tony’s eyes darted to the side after a sudden screech highlighted two drunk girls feeding each other a messy burrito. Further back, he saw a group of guys either so high or drunk that three of them had face-planted next to their chili dogs. Another guy off in a corner, a bigger fella, was fucking going down on a burger. His head bobbed up and down with such ferocity that Tony could swear the hamburger was getting the best blow job of its short life, and--

Oh.

He squinted (no, he did not need glasses, thank you very much), and sighed softly.

Well, yeah, of course Bruce'd be right under his nose. He debated whether or not Bruce would welcome his intrusion, because he doubted the physicist saw him at all. The man was destroying his food and eating like he couldn’t shove it down his gullet fast enough. He was taking massive bites out of a hamburger in his right hand, then used his other hand to scoop up a messy burrito. Hell, he only put down the burger long enough to gobble a handful of fries--

Wow. _Double-fisted eating_. That was a new one. He paused, mesmerized for a second, and then shook his head to clear it.

Yes, he recognized that Bruce was out of control, and that the manic eating mimicked a manic drinking binge (with which he was overly familiar). And if the shoe were on the other foot, he'd've wanted Bruce to interrupt _him,_ to give him a reason to stop, without the inevitable crash. 

He huffed quietly, then rubbed his hands across his jeans.

 _Time to poke the bear_ , he thought, rolling to his feet. Tony sauntered over to the other side of the picnic table bench (the side not heavily bowed beneath Bruce's weight) and silently slipped across. Bruce peered over his glasses once, and then stuffed what was left of his burrito in his mouth.

"That's...pleasant," Tony grunted.

"Yeah? Like what you see?" Bruce spread his arms wide and sprayed half-finished food from his mouth as he spoke. Part of the hamburger in his hand slipped, and a tomato splattered the ground. A wealth of food stains marked Bruce's sweater, some of which looked to be a few hours old.

"This is your future too, yours and mine, if I keep ballooning up. Thought I should start gorging early, y'know, so I can grow into my electric scooter. Before I become _him_."

Tony said nothing and just stared blankly at Bruce, continuing his stare even after Bruce dipped his chin and disgustedly threw his food back on his tray.

"Stop it," he chided, after Bruce calmed a little. At least a slow blush inched across Bruce's cheeks, as if proving he were a little embarrassed.

Tony shook his head. "So you're what I'm like on a three-day drunk."

"Fuck off," Bruce growled, fisting a handful of fries and shoving them in his mouth.

"I get that you're mad," he said, ignoring Bruce's angry mutter. "Sure, maybe the Hulk changed you physically, a little. But what I don't get is your way of dealing with it, like a toddler on a tear. I mean, yeah, maybe you could eat your way to immobility and I could pay someone to take care of you 24/7, but I don't think you want that, not from what you told me."

Bruce sighed heavily and poked his remaining fries with a chubby finger, but he didn't raise his head. "No, of course I don't want that, but what the actual fuck, Tony. I mean He's..." Bruce huffed sadly. "The...Hulk's found a way to hack _this_ body. I can't even be ‘me’ anymore, because apparently he wants us to be identical. The only thing I can control is what I put in my mouth, so why not stuff myself, so he can finish me off quickly."

Caught off guard, Tony leaned back and scrunched up his face. Finally, after a long pause, he crossed his arms and rolled his eyes at his boyfriend. "Wow, really? I think that brand of space cadet logic deserves a standing ovation. That performance was Oscar-worthy, I mean, seriously. Gold star." And he gave Bruce the perfect slow clap.

"Asshole," Bruce snarled.

"Always. You done, Brucie? Pity party over?"

"Fuck. _You_." Bruce had his own temper that had nothing to do with the Hulk, but fortunately it fizzled out fairly quickly. Buildings weren’t leveled, in any case.

Bruce grabbed his hamburger - _triple bacon cheese_ , Tony thought, his own stomach rumbling. Bruce stared at his burger, as if making a conscious decision to finish it, or not. Honestly, it wouldn't take much to finish, since there was less than a quarter left. But ultimately, Bruce made the better choice, and let the rest of the burger fall from his fingers and slap the plate.

“Ow.” Bruce gave a sorry little hiccup, and ran a hand across his stomach.

Tony shook his head and let his eyes roam over the huge piles of wrappers, plastic flatware, and empty containers surrounding Bruce. “We could’ve done this together, y’know,” he muttered. He gestured absently at the picnic table. “Maybe not quite the same quantity, ‘cause this is a record, even for you.” Bruce colored and looked down, while Tony shrugged and consolidated the stray wrappers into an even bigger pile. “Would’ve been more fun with me, and you wouldn’t be in pain right now." He sighed. “What’d you end up scarfing, anyway?”

Bruce fought down a belch and slowly rubbed his abdomen. “Depends. How many food trucks are around?”

“Thirteen,” he counted, before suddenly scowling. “Did you eat from all of ‘em?”

“Some twice.” Bruce hiccuped again and winced. “But to be fair, one was a salad truck.”

“Salad? Who the hell eats salad on a Friday night? That’s the devil’s food.”

“No. Devil’s food was truck number five. Two heaping helpings of molten lava devil’s food cake with extra scoops of frozen custard.” Bruce burped and slowly shook his head as a new blush filled his cheeks. “You were right,” he mumbled. He drummed his tight gut with his fingertips. “This was seriously fucking stupid of me.”

“Well, you’re my kind of stupid.” A small, rueful smile crept across Tony's lips. “C’mon. Let me take care of you.”

“I’m still mad, y’know.”

“I know. But sitting out here and making yourself sick isn’t the best way to deal. I should know, I’m an expert when it comes to that crap.”

He stood and held out a hand, but Bruce didn’t take it. Instead another slow, creeping flush climbed Bruce’s neck.

“Um…no.”

“Why? What’s the matter now?”

“Two-fold problem. One, I think I’m too full to walk that far.”

“I’ll call a taxi. We can ride back, and it won’t be that hard to pour you into a cab.” Well, actually it would be, but he could stagger Bruce the few yards to a cab curb. “What’s the second problem?”

Bruce’s blush deepened. “I…ah. The top button. On my pants. It’s sort of...missing.”

“Ah.”

He glanced under the table and sure enough, Bruce’s pants button had gone flying somewhere. He chewed his lips; Bruce’s belly mimicked a heavy, round wrecking ball as it rested across his unzipped fly (and now he couldn’t get that song out of his head, thank you). His sweater had bunched up, exposing his belly, and his shirt had parted like a curtain to make room for that massive gut. Bruce must’ve busted three or four shirt buttons for that to have happened. Unfortunately, neither the shirt nor the vest did jack to cover anything; on the contrary, their skewed positions simply emphasized Bruce’s gorgeous, grandiose roundness.

He slyly tongued a corner of his mouth. “So, when’s the baby due, Santa?”

“Ha, ha. Very funny.” Bruce belched loudly before looking down with a small whimper. "Ugh...We may have to sit around until I feel better.”

“The sun’ll be up by then,” he snapped. He wasn’t angry, just frustrated and tired and more turned on than he wanted to admit. Not that Bruce would recognize the difference. “Not exactly your finest hour, Banner.”

Bruce nervously rubbed the back of his neck. “I know.”

Softening his glare, Tony cocked his head and unzipped his hoodie.

“What are you doing?”

“Use this to cover your front." He handed his hoodie over. “No one’ll see a thing if you hold it out in front of you. Besides, half the people out here are drunk and won’t care if I’m shoving you into to a cab. They’ll assume you’re a fellow party animal.”

Bruce swallowed as he gently took the sweatshirt from him. “You’ll freeze.”

“No, I won’t.” He immediately rubbed his arms and blew into his hands. “I got a polar bear to keep me warm.”

Bruce almost smiled. “Can’t very well keep you warm when you’re over there, can I?”

“Nope.” He nuzzled into Bruce’s side and hit a button on his watch. Yeah, he could call his driver, but it’d be rude to call this late. Besides, Bruce deserved some modesty, which was easier done with someone neither of them knew.

“J, call us a cab.”

“Of course, Sir,” Jarvis’ tinny voice emanated from his watch. “ETA: three minutes. I do hope you and Dr. Banner can find a way to stay warm. It’s six degrees Celsius in your immediate location.”

“No worries, J.” He flipped Bruce’s arm over his shoulder and cuddled closer to him. “We’ll be fine.”

They shared a brief pause before Bruce spoke. “You hate New York cabs.”

“It’s an emergency situation. Besides, it’d take my driver too long to get here, and it’s the middle of the night. So there’s that. I can deal with a dirty cab for a few minutes, as long as I hose down afterwards.” He fake-shivered.

Bruce sheepishly glanced at the ground. “I’m…sorry for how I acted tonight. I flew off the handle.”

“It was understandable, under the circumstances.” He blew into his hands again. “But Bruce. C’mon, man. You’re gonna have to figure out how to balance this out, yeah?” His eyes briefly flitted over Bruce’s stomach, watching it heave and settle with every lumbering breath; the man had eaten so much, it’d become hard for him to breathe. “I mean, if you keep going on food binges like this one, you really will be five hundred pounds in a few months. Which...is cool.” He nervously nibbled his lips. “But only if that’s what you really want. So is it?”

Bruce slowly shook his head.

“Okay, so. That means you and Hulk need to figure out a way to timeshare this body.”

Bruce suddenly went very still and Tony felt him stiffen. “You already have the answer, don’t you?”

“I—maybe. _Maybe,_ Tony. But…”

“But--?”

Bruce swallowed. “I haven’t…it’s been a long time.”

“A long time since what?”

Bruce didn’t answer and nudged Tony's side. He turned to where Bruce was pointing, and caught the outline of a circling yellow cab, a few yards away. “That ours?”

“Probably.” He wasn’t going to pick Bruce’s brain, not just yet, but the secret would be out soon enough. Even if he had to drag it out by force. “C’mon. It’ll take us a good minute or two to get your sorry, albeit beautiful, ass up. Might as well start now.”

\--

When they got back (and it exhausted him as much as it did Bruce), he lay his boyfriend down and stripped him of his clothes, and then divested himself from his own. Bruce surely noticed his arousal, but at this point neither cared. 

He immediately set to work massaging Bruce’s overfull belly using techniques he’d picked up here and there, trying things he knew Bruce already liked. After a few minutes Bruce belched, burped, and hiccuped in relief, generally denoting his happiness in sighs and grunts as the worst of the gas pains subsided. Neither spoke for more than twenty minutes. Not until Bruce squeezed Tony’s hand.

“Thanks.”

His lips ghosted into a smile and he continued a slow, lazy massage across Bruce’s over-taut gut. “Don’t mention it.” He glanced at the ceiling, “J, get one of the bots to prep the tray, and then bring it in here.” He’d learned the easiest thing when Bruce overdid it was to have a readily prepared tray, complete with honey, ginger, peppermint tea, and heated towels.

“Of course, sir.”

Bruce hiccuped wetly. “God. It’s gonna be a long night.”

“No worries, we’ll get through it.”

Bruce snorted. “Don’t expect me to eat like that, ever again. I learned my lesson.”

 _Did you?_ He wanted to ask, and he felt his body shiver thinking about it. “Scoot over,” he told Bruce, while pretending to be cold. Bruce grunted and shuffled over to make room, and then Tony pulled the blanket over the two of them while propping up on his elbow. “D’you want to talk about it?”

“Not right now. I feel like crap, and I’m still upset that you lied.”

“Fair enough.” Tony stroked Bruce’s low panniculus and reveled in the quivering flesh beneath his fingertips. “My intentions were good, though.”

“Hell of a road.”

He smirked at the rotten pun. “Yeah. I know.” He was hyper aware of Bruce’s eyes boring through him, but kept his eyes on Bruce’s tummy - it was a little flatter, maybe, due to his body finally processing all that food. He continued massaging Bruce’s belly; when normal sized, it reminded Tony of an enormous bean bag chair, all squishy and soft.

“Look,” he finally sighed. “I think you’re wrong.” Bruce set his jaw and shifted under the bedsheets, but Tony barreled on. “You and Hulk...you’re the same. You _are,_ ” he emphasized, when Bruce attempted to interrupt. “He wants what you want, and vice-versa. If you think he’s pulling the strings and making you fat, then you must want it too, on some unconscious level.”

Bruce sighed deeply. “Tony--”

“Hear me out. I know you’re mad at yourself and mad at me, and mad at how Hulk’s been manipulating you, but you --”

“ _No_ , just...just stop. That’s not it at all.”

“Then what the hell--”

“I apologize, Sirs,” Jarvis interrupted. “Butterfingers is at the door with the tray.”

Tony pulled a face at the timing, but Bruce was already sitting up. And from the look on Bruce’s face, he knew he wasn’t going to get any more out of him tonight. Well. He snorted. Apart from gas.

“Got it,” he said. He opened the door and Butterfingers expertly maneuvered the tray to a side table. He praised the bot, and it made a small, happy keen after he tapped the top of its metal head, and then it rolled from the room and shut the door behind it.

“Definitely worth the upgrades.”

He handed the heated towel to Bruce first, and after Bruce lay it over his stomach he moaned louder than a porno film. “You make another sound like that,” Tony grumbled, preparing the tea, “and I won’t be responsible for my actions.” 

Bruce huffed darkly, and grabbed the mug. He sniffed it and, satisfied, took a small sip. “Hm. Well, I wouldn’t worry about that tonight. Not so much.”

Ouch.

Tony nodded absently and chose to pick at the dirt beneath his nails, instead of catching his boyfriend’s eye. He wanted to ask Bruce dozens of things. He wanted to delve deep, and ask what he liked about himself now. He wanted to know if Bruce still liked binging on food, or their feeding sessions, or if he enjoyed growing out of his clothes as much as he did. He wanted to know if the bomb of Hulk’s subtle manipulation would change their relationship, or separate them. Or end them.

The questions remained on his tongue, but he didn’t feel comfortable asking any of them; he felt he’d lost the right to, because he hadn’t been totally honest.

Bruce shifted beside him. “Here,” the other man murmured, and he handed both the empty mug and the cooling towel over. “Let’s just try to get some sleep, okay? We can talk more in the morning.”

Nodding, Tony put the things away, and scrunched under the blanket. He exhaled quietly when Bruce wrapped his arms around him, effectively making him the little spoon to Bruce’s big spoon. He listened to the gurgles and groans coming from his lover’s belly, while letting the sounds comfort him.

“I’ll probably be up and down the rest of the night,” Bruce admitted, “but since it’s after 4am, you should try to get some rest, at least.”

“Not sure if I can, either.”

Bruce shrugged, but gave a gentle squeeze. The hug wasn’t an acceptance of his apology, but it was adequate because it let him know Bruce still cared, and wasn’t going anywhere. So it was enough.

For now.


	3. Synthesis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Banner smart. Hulk smarter.

“What the hell, Banner--? Why aren’t you sleeping it off?”

Bruce flinched. Tony’d followed him, which was a little surprising; he’d thought Tony’d still be asleep but, like always, he’d underestimated his boyfriend’s tenacity. Truthfully he found comfort in it, though he still felt a little ashamed. And a little angry.

“C’mon, talk to me. What are you doing?”

“Getting a yoga mat,” he quipped, grabbing one from the wall. A year ago, Tony created a meditation-slash-yoga studio for him, replete with canned nature music and tatami floors. The studio was really two rooms, since the side opened to a small, fully enclosed rock garden, complete with a koi pond. He wasn’t sure who Tony got to take care of the pond, but fortunately the few fish in it appeared healthy and happy. Better still, despite its delicate looks, Tony had more or less made the studio Hulk-proof...which made it perfect for what he was about to do.

“Obviously, I can see that.” Leaning against the doorjamb Tony remained preternaturally still, neither entering nor moving inside. He almost wished Tony’d yell or scream, since it would make everything easier. “Why now?”

“Because I want to do yoga?”

“After eating half of New York? Bullshit.”

Shrugging, Bruce worried the mat between his fingers. He wrestled against coming down here - his stomach certainly would've thanked him - and he hadn't wanted to involve Tony. But he'd forgotten how light of a sleeper Tony'd become. Bruce sighed softly. Tony’s anger only aggravated the pain. “The tea and the massages helped,” Bruce said sheepishly, hoping his boyfriend took his admission as an apology.

Tony's scowl worsened.

Swallowing, Bruce realized Tony was continuing to glare, waiting for...what? A better apology--? Ah, of course. He hid a wince; Tony wanted to "talk." Instead Bruce had fled, chickening out before morning light hit. Of course it looked bad - t looked like some kind of revenge tactic. But it really wasn’t. He just wasn’t ready.

“Believe what you want, Tony.”

“Mm.”

Bruce sighed, dug his toes into the floor, and briefly surveyed the room to avoid Tony’s burning anger. He was tired, and achy, and in no mood for this right now. “Look, I don't know--”

“Go ahead, lie to me," Tony interrupted. "Tell me you’re not trying to contact Hulk by yourself.”

Putting down the mat, Bruce ambled over to the audio panel to turn down the ambient noise. It was far too loud anyway. 

“Got it in one.”

“Are you still so pissed at me that you’re willing to do this alone?”

Bruce's fingers froze over the audio panel. “Maybe,” he finally admitted, after a pause. He briefly thumbed down the noise until the only extraneous sounds were the trickles from the koi pond, then he turned to retrieve the mat. “But that’s only a small part of it. I know what to expect, and I know how to handle him. I don’t foresee any surprises.” He squeezed the mat between his fingers a few times before carefully unfurling it and laying it on the tatami floor. “But seeing how long it's been, I can’t guarantee what will, or won’t happen. So you can’t stay. You have to be out of this room, in a safer location.”

He watched as Tony shot from the wall and came into his personal space, taking slow, uneven paces across the floor - his preferred way of stalling. 

“You should let me stay.” Tony was trying to catch his eye, but he made sure to stare at the floor so he wouldn’t be tempted to agree. “Yeah, I can hide out in the lab, but Jarvis can monitor your progress either way, right? So what if something goes wrong?”

Bruce's eyebrow shot up. “Then you’re definitely better off in the lab.” He risked glancing at Tony’s face, expecting to see fury and frustration. He didn’t expect...fear. Or sadness. He nibbled his lip and wanted to pull Tony down and kiss him stupid, to pour all his strength into him. But he couldn’t. Not yet. “Tony...” he sighed. He raised his arms, then let them fall uselessly at his sides. “Um. Honey.”

Tony’s steps faltered. They could both count on one hand the number of times he'd used any sort of endearments; when he did, it was always to reinforce how he felt for Tony, and also to get Tony’s immediate attention.

His boyfriend stood his ground and stared at his stocking feet. He huffed softly; he hadn't noticed Tony toeing off his shoes.

“I love you, all right?” Bruce licked his lips and stroked his stubbly double chin. “That truth is neither in question, nor in dispute. I can still be upset with you and in love you at the same time. But please, _please_ listen to me. When I say I have to do this alone, I mean it. I can’t even start meditating if I think you're at risk.”

Tony scuffed the floor with his heel. “The Hulk knows me, babe. There won’t be any risks.” 

He shook his head. “No, love, you misunderstand.” He swallowed, shifted his feet. “It’s...not the Hulk you’d have to worry about.”

Tony eye caught his, and there was so _much_ there, he nearly drowned in it. Tony’s eyes demanded and craved and wished and hoped...but Tony's eyes would have to accept trust for now.

Tony closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Fine,” he sighed, letting his argument deflate, like an old balloon. “I’ll...wait in the lab. Cross my heart.” Bruce side-eyed him over a raised brow and Tony huffed like a frustrated bull. “ _What_? I do have a heart, you know. Pepper gave it to me.”

“Mm.” Bruce briefly tugged the hem of his t-shirt, but with how little it covered it might as well have been a child’s shirt. Sighing, he slowly shook his head, as if considering the option. He doubted Tony’s judgment, and he expected he’d renege on his promise if things got rough, but at least the man listened.

To be honest, if the situation had been reversed, he would’ve done the same. 

“Just remember what I said,” Bruce repeated. He lowered himself onto the mat and winced as he adjusted to a lotus position. He would’ve been a lot less stiff, if he’d only kept up with the stretches.

Shooting Tony one last, scathing scowl he removed his glasses and set them on a short side table. “And now. _Now_ would be a good time to leave.”

“I will, I will. Don’t get your panties twisted.” Tony made a noise huffed and gentled his glare while giving the room a cursory glance. “You’ve never shown me this part of you, Bruce, so paint me a little curious. And, of course, mad, because you snuck out this morning without saying anything.”

“I know." He rubbed his cheeks and took a deep, quiet breath. “Makes us even, though, right?” He made a face, realizing his petulance. “Sorry. That was uncalled for. Honestly, I--I don’t like anyone watching me. It looks like I’m mumbling to myself, or I’m insane, or worse. I recorded myself once. I looked and sounded possessed.”

“Sounds like a date I once had,” Tony quipped.

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Hopefully not.” He briefly glanced at Tony before hanging his head and examining his fingers; Tony deserved...something. “It’s hard enough having that green monster lurking inside me,” he finally said. “I wasn’t sure if you could watch me screaming and carrying on like a madman.” _Or if you’d still love me,_ he thought, but he kept that insecurity to himself.

Tony shot him a smug grin and shrugged. “So no crazier than your orgasms, then.”

“Oh, for-- _please_ , just go. Would you _go_?” He grumbled under his breath, but fought down a grin. “You’re...fucking up my chi.” The quote was from a movie they’d seen several weeks ago and they’d laughed at the ultra-bad science in it.

“All right, all right.” Tony spoke before he had the chance, before it devolved into some kind of ultra dramatic soap opera moment they hated. Tony massaged his shoulder and searched his face for reassurance, maybe. Then he headed for the door.

“But if it looks like you’re in trouble--”

“I won’t be, Tony. Ten minutes, tops.” He hoped. He began breathing deeply, in and out. “It’ll probably take you that long to walk to the lab.”

Tony shook his finger at him. “I’m holding you to those ten minutes, Banner.” Tony paused against the door and drummed fingers against the jamb. “I still love you, Brucie,” he murmured, chewing a corner of his lips. “So come back to me whole, okay?”

He nodded and closed his eyes. “I will.”

Bruce waited only a little, until he felt the air shift due to Tony leaving his space. Then he took one more deep breath, and dove into mental spaces he hadn’t visited in ages.

“I love you, too, Tony.”

\--

_In...out. In...out._

He’s glad Tony’s never pressed him about the Hulk. He understands how curious Tony can be, and knows Tony’s dying to know. But this part...this is the stuff of fantasy, and they are scientists. He is supposed to know the known, and speculate rationally on the unknown. But this impossible place is neither known nor unknown, and his mind cannot comprehend it. He simply has to be it, and it makes no sense to him.

But that’s the point; if he could make sense of it, he would understand the _why_ of the Hulk.

Of his five senses, only his hearing works right now. His breath sharpens, and he becomes more aware of it. He sounds loud; he hears nothing but himself. He’s reminded of a diver in deep waters, gulping through a regulator, or a firefighter in a gas mask, picking through rooms of flame and smoke. He hears his breath as loudly as his heartbeat, and both thud dully in his ears.

_In...out. In...out._

It’s pitch black and he cannot see, but he knows he’s close. His breath sounds hollow and begins echoing, as if pinging off of a cement room. He’s briefly aware of movement, though he swears he hasn’t moved, and yet...

He “opens” his eyes, suddenly aware that he has eyes. He sees a string. Pulls it.

A flash of blue illuminates the Wall, the barrier between their minds. He shakes his head, trying to make sense of it, but it’s an infinite wall of old, red brick, taller than he can vault, wider than he can imagine.

Bruce is a little uncomfortable of it, because it’s not science. Instead it’s too close and too raw and entirely too much of him and the Other.

_Puny Banner..._

The rumble makes the hairs of his non-existent neck stand on edge.

“We need to talk,” he hears himself say. His words echo and ping off the infinite barrier, bouncing back at him like a child's rubber ball.

He hasn’t used this headspace often enough. If he could smell he could imagine this place would smell earthy, moldy and wet, like autumn leaves left too long on dying grass.

**Puny. Banner.**

The “ground” quakes and Bruce stumbles. He chooses to take courage from the noise, rather than run from it, because he knows he’s in control. He is always in control.

_You are?_

A rolling rumble echoes across the Wall. He recognizes it as laughter.

“We need to _talk,_ ” he firmly repeats, and a chair materializes on his side. He remembers that the chair was once made of wood, another time aluminum, still another vibranium. The last time was glass. Today, the chair is plastic, and he chooses not to psychologically analyze the reasons behind today’s composition.

He knows another seat will appear on his side of the Wall, and when they’re both ready a window will also appear. This is their arrangement. This is how they talk.

How they will ever talk.

He sits, or at least has the semblance of sitting, and waits for the the window. It feels like both a decade and a nanosecond before the Wall ripples, and a round, Victorian-era pane shimmers and parts the Wall. The window reminds him of a priest’s confessional, although that is what he imagines on his side. The Other has his own design and his own window’s composition, and whatever he chooses to create, will materialize on his side.

The quaking beneath his feet quiets, as does the thunderous voice. It’s his own head manufacturing the giant, and when he concentrates - truly concentrates - he can make them equal in size and volume.

He is in control of the monster.

**“Not your Monster!”**

He winces. “Poor choice of words, sorry.” Hulk is always more articulate in this shared space, and they understand one another far more, but he doesn’t like that Hulk “hears” his side of his thoughts. There used to be more distance between them, less awareness. He still can’t hear the Hulk’s thoughts, but Hulk can apparently hear his, clear as day. He wonders what that means.

**“Means Hulk is no Monster!”**

Sighing, he puts a hand to the glass pane and imagines what’s there. His mind conjures its own landscape of beyond the Wall, but it’s not right. Reminds him too much of van Gogh’s _Starry Night_ or Munch’s _Scream_ and it’s really a representation of Hulk, tainted by his own prejudices.

Best to think of neutral things, really.

“Let’s talk, then,” he says, forever patient.

**“No. Banner should see Hulk’s trick.”**

He pauses, unsure. Hulk usually obeys, unless danger is near, so his refusal is disquieting, to say the least. He tentatively places his hand on the pane. He is curious, of course, but very apprehensive. “What...trick?”

**“Watch.”**

His breath hitches as he feels...an invasion, of sorts. Without his own bidding, the Wall disappears and his mind conjures a musty and half-dead forest, surrounded by curling, eye-level fog. Unkempt and foul-smelling, swampish and gray...it reminds Bruce of rotted willows in a sulfurous wood, or something he might see in a dark forest in some fairy tale. He steps over a downed “log” and a scorpion slithers from a hollowed out husk.

“What...” he breaths, unsure of his own breaths as a plume of condensed air comes from his manifested lips. “How did you--”

A dark chuckle sends chills up his back and Hulk materializes before him in a way he really shouldn’t. They are both in the _same_ mindscape; the barrier between them shimmering and thinning, and...disappearing.

“No!”

The green giant approaches, changing as he manifests. No longer imposing, no longer fearsome, his camouflage becomes a cartoonish form. Something from Disney...? Bruce snorts to himself - _Shrek_? Did Hulk just become --

 **“Yes. Hulk can do more,”** he says, and Bruce swallows fitfully as Hulk reaches for him and...touches him. He shivers as emotions flood and overwhelm him. They don’t need to talk, if they don’t want to. He can hear Hulk’s thoughts as readily as Hulk hears his own, and it’s absolutely overwhelming.

He stumbles back as leaves rustle behind him. He winces, and hugs his head. “Stop...don’t--don’t do that. It...it _hurts_.”

The less-than-Monster, not-quite-human snaps back as if hurt himself. **“Want to help.”** Bruce gradually squints up, still cradling his head to appease a screaming migraine. _**“Am**_ helping,” Hulk says. 

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” He shares enough of Hulk’s remaining consciousness to help explain his side, but he has a feeling Hulk already knows what he means - even if he has problems articulating it. But he must articulate it. He has to.

The new mindscape, unfamiliar to him but far too familiar to Hulk, produces a log large enough for sitting, and he isn’t sure which one of them manifests it. “I want you to sit down. We need to reassess our boundaries.”

He doesn’t care if Hulk understands his words or not, but he knows from what he’s seen he should not worry. Hulk is a fast learner. He’s taking Bruce in faster than a computer ever could. It gives him a headache, but he understands. He wishes he didn’t.

Hulk follows and Bruce looks back once, seeing him both cowed and quiet, much like a child. _Nine_ , his mind calculates, and a deep rumbling agrees. Hulk used to have the mind of a five-year-old. But he has aged. Has learned. Is learning.

He is closer to nine, and he never noticed.

“Happy Birthday,” he mutters as they sit. Hulk beams at him.

He looks, truly looks at Hulk, and feels a sudden sense of paternity he hadn’t felt before. Hulk is essentially a child born from his rage; in the beginning they were close enough in age that Hulk could be his younger brother, but that isn’t true now. They are child and man now - father-figure and son would be apt. Bruce has aged, Hulk has not - or rather, Hulk has _begun_ aging and learning, slowly. But the information Hulk has finally gathered in this place is worrying. What would a nine-year-old, with all the time in the world, with all the infinite resources at his disposal, and with absolutely no supervision do...?

He shudders; he does not like his conclusions. “How did you do it?” He asks gently. “Explain it to me, so I can understand. You’ve...learned to hear my thoughts and you’ve learned to cross the barrier between our minds. I know that now. But...how? When?”

Hulk folds in on himself, much like a child caught doing something they aren’t sure about. Bruce knows Hulk would prefer touching him, and letting him feel/see. But it’s not possible; he is not as efficient with such communication, not like Hulk is.

His temper softens. **“Banner was sick,”** Hulk says. **“Getting sicker, and killing himself. Killing us.”**

Bruce stops short of wincing as emotions batter his senses: Gnawing hunger. Fighting. Anger. Frustration. Emptiness...these were what Hulk felt and did not understand.

**“Couldn’t talk to Banner, and Banner wouldn’t talk.”**

“I know. I’m so sorry I did that to you.” And he means it. But Hulk is suddenly fidgeting, and he isn’t sure why. He receives flashes from him, that he needs to tell him something, but he can’t produce the words - as if the words are foreign and thick to him, whereas feelings are easy and known.

**“Hulk had to. Had to cross, to make Banner well.”**

He frowns, finding snippets in their shared mind, but not enough to understand. “How?” He presses. “You crossed over. I understand why. But how? And what did you _do_?”

Hulk growls and jumps from the log as if stung. He grows before his eyes, shedding the Disney persona. He becomes what Bruce knows...and fears. He raises his closed fists to the sky and screams.

**“Rahhhrr--!”**

It’s frustration, it’s abject fear. It’s all the hurt he feels, daily. It’s every raw emotion into one full, wicked cry.

“Shh,” he coos. “Calm down. I’m right here. Use your words.”

Hulk roars again and pounds the ground with his feet and fists, angrier than ever, and a flash lets him see why: It’s not something Hulk can explain in words. He’ll have to show it.

And...it will hurt them both.

He gulps at the stale, conjured air and stares at his feet. He has on his glasses and he removes them and carefully twists them through his fingers for a while before allowing a nod. “Okay,” he whispers. “Okay. Show me.”

Hulk touches him.

They both scream. And Bruce continues to scream, even after Hulk stops. He screams as his mind shuts down. Until he tumbles into a void of no beginning and no end.

And even then, he continues to scream.


	4. Catalyst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce, Tony, _and_ Hulk come to a consensus

Tony couldn’t help it. Bruce’s suggestion (fine, _warning_ ) to stay outside of the studio was a valid one, but Bruce might as well had said to never kiss him again, which, for the record, was never happening. He felt honored Bruce let him in at least this far, since no one else had seen Bruce “talk” with the Hulk, like, no one else in the world, but his pride in it turned somber as the minutes ticked away.

He hovered in the studio’s entrance and surveyed his lover. Ninety minutes in, and Bruce was still seated on the same damn mat in the same damn pose, just breathing, not moving, apart from a few odd cheek twitches. And yes, Jarvis did pick up a lot of incoherent, one-sided mumblings in the beginning, but it was the one loud shout, the _scream_ , thirty minutes ago, that had him down like a shot. He’d hastily overridden the doors’ maglocks, heedless of his own safety, and barreled into the room, expecting to see an enraged Hulk in need of calming. Instead, the scene was almost exactly as when he left it with Bruce calmly seated, eyes shut, gulping oxygen for all it was worth...with the only difference being him drenched in sweat. 

So he hesitated. He checked with Jarvis, and Bruce’s vitals were okay. Elevated, but still within safe parameters. He decided to trust Bruce so he hovered near the door, patiently waiting for him to come out of his trance, while nibbling his nails to the quick. Other than that one lone shout Bruce appeared stable and content in his perfect lotus state, but he couldn’t help thinking that this quiet was far from normal.

Sighing heavily, Tony continued nibbling his thumbnail, contemplating if he should intervene. Sure, Bruce would be sore at him, but it was his own fault. He said ten minutes, dammit, and this was ten times longer than that. And Tony...didn’t want to speculate on what that could mean.

“C’mon, babe. Don’t do this. Don’t disappear on me.” He choked down his panic by mimicking Bruce’s yogic breath repetitions and by watching his boyfriend’s low, fuzzy stomach swelling and shrinking his super-stretched tee with each deep breath. 

Tony’s cheek twitched. Bruce’s tiny t-shirt had an imprint of the periodic table, and contained the words, “I wear this shirt periodically” across the top, like a rainbow. The shirt was one of the many nerdy ones Tony didn’t have the heart to replace; the t-shirts were so uniquely Bruce, that even upsizing the same design seemed somewhat traitorous. Still, the shirt was ridiculously small; Bruce’s huge abdomen was entirely exposed and scrunching the bottom half of the shirt, forcing everything from sodium to francium to disappear within the creases. 

Tony's smirk slowly faded. Figuring he had nothing left but his boyfriend to lose, he pushed from the door, and sat in front of Bruce, unconsciously mimicking his pose. Up close, torrents of perspiration had matted Bruce’s curls. He’d seen Bruce meditate before, ages ago, but this was different. True, he’d never really watched Bruce contact the Hulk, so he wasn’t sure what Bruce was supposed to look like, but there wasn’t a single lick of peace anywhere on Bruce’s face. He saw angry facial twitches instead. And maybe panic.

Feeling a little daring, he ran his thumb across Bruce’s forehead to smooth out the frown lines, and was surprised when he received an immediate reaction.

“Nnn...”

He licked his lips. “Bruce...?”

Bruce fisted his sweatpants. Seconds later, his breathing became shallow and strained, as if he were having an asthma attack. Tony's heart dropped, and he risked squeezing the man’s shoulder. “Babe, it’s okay, it’s me, it’s Tony--”

“No. No, no no-- _ahhh_ \--!” 

Bruce let loose a partially human roar, and Tony could tell he was still in his trance. He tightened his grip on Bruce’s shoulder, and shook him a little desperately. But there was no way he could’ve predicted what happened next. 

“Whoa - watch it!” Years of training with Happy saved him as Bruce’s arm flew back, in an attempt to coldcock him. Tony hissed as he dodged another of Bruce’s wide punches, and he narrowly missed a major black eye. “Fight’s over! You’re here, you’re okay, you’re with me. Wake _up_!”

Bruce’s eyes finally flew open but he also pitched forward, slamming both of them into the floor. “ _Oof_.” He groaned when Bruce knocked the wind from his lungs, holding and pinning him like a huge high school wrestler. “You know I love this kind of thing, sweets,” he quipped, “but maybe later, ‘cause this is more of a bedroom activity...”

Bruce didn’t move. 

“Babe...?” Tony's grin faded when Bruce didn’t answer. The only response were Bruce’s hands nervously kneading his shirt, refusing to let go, remaining tightly pressed into his side. But then Bruce began trembling. And wheezing. And Tony could feel his shoulder getting damp, and it wasn’t from Bruce’s sweat.

“Hey, hey...shh.” He immediately took the full brunt of Bruce weight while freeing one hand to finger his boyfriend’s curls. “Shh...calm down. It’s okay, it’s okay.”

He could feel Bruce’s heartbeat pounding through his shirt, not quite rapid enough to prompt a Hulk-out, but still far too fast. “Talk to me, sweetheart,” he coaxed softly. “Talk to me, or so help me, I’ll get Thor down here with his hammer to restart your cardio-pulmonary system.” 

Five seconds. Fifteen seconds. Then--

“That would be,” Bruce finally sniffled, “incredibly painful.”

Tony let out a trembling sigh and let his head hit the floor. “Fuck. Thank fuck you’re okay.”

“In a manner of speaking.” Bruce took two deep, shuddering breaths before relaxing his grip on Tony's shirt. He rolled so Tony could finally sit up, but then wiped his eyes and stabbed his boyfriend with a tired, bloodshot glare from the floor. “I thought I told you to stay out of the way.”

“Only works if you’re not in danger, and I didn’t like what I saw on the monitors. Also, you said ten minutes and that was almost two hours ago. I had to come.” He paused and fretfully rolled his lips. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Bruce closed his eyes and ran a shaky hand through his hair. “I...I don’t know.”

“Why? What happened?” He helped Bruce as he struggled to sit up. Bruce was shivering again, and he wrapped his arm around Tony’s, not ready - or unable - to let go. 

“I...honestly--I didn’t think--I mean, we really are...” Bruce was rambling, and Tony wisely kept his mouth shut as Bruce reasoned it through. “You were right, at least in a sense. He is me, but...different. Immature. Parts of who I was as a kid. And we’re sharing one body.” He remained quiet as Bruce stumbled over his words and carefully weighed what he was saying.

“The closest analogy for me--for _us_ ,” Bruce paused, finally letting go of Tony's arm to fumble around for his glasses, “might be some sort of dissociative disorder.” 

He glimpsed Bruce’s eyes before his boyfriend donned his glasses, but Tony's breath hitched when he noticed flecks of bright green marbling Bruce’s warm brown irises. God, did Bruce know? Did he feel the Hulk--?

Bruce shook his head in a way that reminded Tony of a dog trying to shake off a plastic neck cone. “I’m not nuts,” he said, misinterpreting the gasp.

“I never said you were.” And gently, because Bruce looked tense enough to go on a rampage of his own sans Hulk, he slowly rubbed Bruce's arm. “Just tell me what happened in there. Nothing you can say will surprise me.”

Bruce stared at the floor a full minute before drawing a hiccuped breath. “He...ah. He figured it out.”

“Figured what out?”

“How we ’work,’ ” Bruce said, gesturing absently. “He was afraid I was going to kill us again, so he found a way to manipulate...what shouldn’t be, what can’t be manipulated.” He swallowed nervously. “He can manually control my...our endocrine system. Hormones. Neurotransmitters. Everything.”

“Shit." Tony was momentarily speechless and wanted to process the bombshell in his head, but words tumbled from his lips before he had the chance. “How...? Is that even possible--?”

Bruce sighed heavily. “Well, he did it, so the ‘possible’ part is a moot point. He...must’ve gotten the idea from some books I read.” 

Bruce looked at him again with haunted eyes, eyes still flecked with green and brown and an uncomfortable emptiness. “Years ago,” Bruce murmured, licking his lips, “I read something on Tibetan monks, how some of them could induce autonomic reactions through guided meditation.” He waved his free arm, indicating how silly it sounded, even in his own ears. “I tried it, but I thought it was bunk when it didn’t work--”

“But whatever you read,” Tony groaned, suddenly understanding, “he reads.”

Bruce’s throat bobbed. “Apparently.” He shook his head. “That, combined with all of the journal articles I’ve read regarding endocrinology, I...don’t know how he figured it out, but he ended up doing what I couldn’t do.” Bruce’s eyes flashed, suddenly fully green, and Tony unconsciously gripped his arm a little tighter. “He’s a sponge, Tony. A savant. He’s smart, smarter than I ever gave him credit for, but also a _child_. Imagine if Oppenheimer were nine years old, or Flemming, but they had a rudimentary understanding of their fields. Imagine if they could do just enough damage to be considered extremely dangerous.”

Tony couldn’t help seeing himself in Bruce’s analogy: how would he have fared if he hadn’t had his father’s guidance? Howard was an asshole, but one thing he did get right was guide his genius so he wouldn’t become the “evil” part of scientist. Mad, yes. Cackling while blowing up the world? Not so much.

An eerie, unsettling calm replaced Bruce’s fear. “I’m glad he likes me,” Bruce whispered, smirking softly. “And that we were able to come to an understanding. Because the control he has, over 'our' hormones--”

Tony's eyes wandered over Bruce’s quivering fists as his boyfriend clenched and released his hands in some dark exercise, and he wondered if Bruce recognized the link between his mental state and the outward manifestations of it. But Bruce’s hand-tells had evolved in two years; he no longer wrung timid, delicate surgeon-fingers. Now his fingers were meaty, and thick, powerful forces of respect, and no stranger could ever interpret those tells as nervous tics.

Bruce's hands had become constructs of caterpillar-to-butterfly gorgeousness.

“You know,” Bruce breathed heavily. “The truth of it is, Hulk could’ve changed me into him at any time he liked.” Tony immediately snapped back to their conversation. “I...wouldn’t have been able to stop him.”

“Holy shit...”

Bruce nodded, but his tone was without inflection. “All the chemical classes. Thyroxine. Serotonin. Insulin. Dopamine. Somatotropin. CRH. TSH. HGH. _Adrenaline_. He’s been subtly controlling them, all since around the time I collapsed.”

“But...why?”

“Why?” Bruce scoffed. “ _Why_? Because he thought I was sad, Tony, and he didn’t want me to die. And when he figured out how everything worked, he continued messing around with the concentrations until the adjustments made me happy. He wanted to see me happier...almost sweet, if you think about it. Poor guy dreamed a child’s dream for his father.” 

Bruce swallowed and wet his lips. “He wanted to please his Papa, and make Papa less...sad. That’s all.”

Tony was still in shock, and let the silence linger as he absorbed it all. He sort of wrapped his head around it after ten minutes, after realized neither of them had spoke in that time. Actually, he was surprised Bruce wasn’t freaking the hell out; he sure would’ve been.

He cleared his throat. “Did he...change your mental state?” Bruce nodded solemnly, and Tony frowned. How much, then, had Bruce really enjoyed, all this time? He had to remind himself that Hulk began changing Bruce _after_ they’d gotten together. Otherwise...

Yeah.

Tony swallowed. “Then did you two hash it out? Get you fixed, or leveled, or whatever?”

Bruce gave a half-shrug. “Yes, and no.” He glanced up, and Tony saw raw fear in Bruce's heterogeneous eyes. “I told him to stop, because he could end up hurting us anyway. I doubt death would be that easy because he’s who he is, but...we probably would’ve become some strange amalgamation or hybrid in the end.” He sighed and reclined, and Tony nestled his head on his boyfriend’s billowy stomach. He hoped Bruce couldn’t see how much his last statement scared the hell out of him.

“We used to have a wall between us. A bridge,” Bruce confessed. “We used to have separate ways of dealing - his way and mine - and we used those ways in our separate bodies and minds. But he--Hulk--learned how to cross over. He learned how to come into my mind, without my conscious knowledge. And now, after our ‘talk,’ I have open access to his thoughts, and he has access to mine, and...I’m not sure how that makes me feel.” Bruce swallowed. “We both agreed to rebuild our wall, but it’s slow going and both of our defenses are down.”

Tony paused again, taking a few beats to listen to Bruce’s slow, careful breaths and the intermittent gurgles and growls of his stomach. He made a face; Bruce probably hadn’t eaten breakfast.

“Okay,” Tony breathed, wrapping his head around the new knowledge. “So what’s the ‘worst-case scenario’ in this?”

Bruce twisted an arm behind his head and sighed heavily. Despite the dour circumstances, Tony enjoyed hearing and feeling the rolling flow of Bruce’s breaths beneath his head. “There’s...sort of a caveat.” Bruce rubbed his forehead with his thumbs and as the silence wore on, Tony began fidgeting. He forced himself to stay calm by calculating a few dozen permutations of a sundae in his head (nuts, various flavors of ice cream, chocolate sauce and cherries).

 _Hm._ His mind ambled aimlessly, nervously. _Ice cream. We both need ice cream, after today--_

“You know what happens when you unnecessarily mess with hormone levels, right?” Bruce asked.

“Yeah.” Tony knew better than most, though he didn’t like thinking about it. The corner of his mouth quirked up, but there was no humor in his eyes. “You can end up addicted to certain feelings, or things.”

“More or less,” Bruce hummed, and Tony couldn’t avoid a real smile now, at the rumble echoing in his ear. “It can also turn into a wicked loop of addiction and behavior, with actual physical problems thrown in the mix.” 

Bruce glanced briefly at him. “I told Hulk to stop, Tony. And he did.”

“What...right away?”

“Uh huh.”

“Which means you’re--”

“--going cold turkey,” Bruce finished. He looked down and gently carded his fingers through Tony's hair. “It depends on how much damage he’s done, and for how long, but..I have a feeling I’m gonna need help toughing this one out. The SHIELD doctors who worked on me when I was sick before? Those guys might work.”

“You hated those guys.”

“Detested them. But I - _we_ ,” Bruce amended, catching Tony's glance with a small smile, “you and I, we can’t do this alone. Once my levels start dipping below a certain point, especially serotonin, it’ll be like a drug withdrawal. More than likely I’ll Hulk out. But...Hulk will be able to handle those changes better.” He turned his head. “I might need round the clock care until everything balances out. I’ll understand if you--well.”

Tony scowled, frustrated that Bruce would even think such things. “I’m in it for the long haul, Banner,” he said sharply, but he softened his tone when he felt Bruce’s flinch. “You won’t get rid of me that easily.” His smile faded, and he briefly rubbed his eyes. “You know I love you too much for that. If I have to prove it all over again, I will.”

Bruce snorted and ran his free hand through his hair. “Holy crap, I think I must’ve done just enough to balance my karma.” He snorted and glanced down, but Tony noticed his lashes were shiny. “I don’t deserve you. Seriously.”

“Yeah, you do, Big Guy,” he murmured. He patted Bruce’s soft belly and rolled his head back.

“I don’t say it enough.”

“It’s okay. I already know how you feel.”

But Bruce fumbled for his hand, and squeezed it gently anyway. “I should, though. I mean it, I love you, Tony.”

“I know.” Still, the bloom of warmth overtaking Tony's chest was more than he expected. He caressed Bruce’s thumb and stole a glance. “Bruce...?”

Bruce grunted when he didn’t answer right away.

“Will you balance out?”

“That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?” Bruce ran a hand through his hair and his curls fluffed up like a poodle’s coif. “I might be fine, or I might have to be on some sort of medication the rest of my life.” Tony couldn’t possibly see how Bruce could make light of such a thing. “In any case, it’s gonna be pretty damn dangerous to be around me for a while, ‘cause detox is a bitch. ” Bruce chuckled darkly. “Maybe I’ll have to find out who I am, all over again.”

He squeezed Bruce's arm while moistening his lips. There were things he could say to help reassure Bruce, maybe, but it would cost him and he wasn’t sure if he was ready to pay the price. Still, if it helped...

“Remember last New Years’?”

Bruce’s eyebrow rose a millimeter and a frown creased his lips. “Yeah, but I’m surprised you do.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed. He slowly rubbed Bruce’s arm. “I was so drunk off my ass you walked. You stayed at a hotel for almost two weeks, until you were sure it was safe to come home.”

Bruce’s glare faltered. “Well. We’re both good at running.” A slow blush pinked Bruce’s cheeks. 

“When you left, I stayed off the booze until I knew I could handle it like a normal human being. Can’t say I’m not tempted to drown my sorrows every so often, but that’s another story.” His cheek jumped, trying for a grin, but failing. “What I’m saying is, I know what detox can be like. You came back after the worst of it, but I was sick as a dog and needed doctor’s supervision that entire time. And in college I wasn’t a boy scout, Bruce. Had to dry out then too, but back then it was more than just booze.”

Bruce’s lips pursed in a small moue. “I know...it’s hard for you to talk about it. You never told me about all your addictions, but I sort of guessed you had more than the one, anyway. Thank you for telling me.” Bruce curled his fingers through Tony's hair again, and he shut his eyes, enjoying the lazy feel of Bruce’s fingers. “Still, this is...different.”

“Of course it is. It’s _you_ ,” he said, grabbing Bruce’s hand and kissing his knuckles. “But I’m with you, every step. No more running.”

Bruce chewed his bottom lip and let out a long sigh. “Okay then...fine. But just remember, you asked for this.”

Tony rolled over so he could stare into Bruce’s eyes. They shimmered green and brown, tempting him with both the Hulk, and Bruce. He hoped they were both listening. “I’m here,” he said. “For both of you. I love you both.”

He waited a little longer, listening to Bruce’s deepening breaths. He had a feeling Bruce was slowly falling asleep (it wasn’t like either one of them had any decent sleep the last few nights), but there was one last thing he needed from Bruce. And as zen as they both were right now, this would probably be the best, and only time, to get the truth out of him. 

“Bruce.”

Bruce yawned. “Yeah?”

“What really made you mad, last night?”

Bruce’s second yawn caught in his throat, and he took a long time to answer. Long enough that Tony began nervously drumming his fingers on the floor. “Tony...” Bruce ran a hand over his chin, then chewed his lower lip and began again. “It’s...it’s not just you, it’s both of us. And I don’t think it has anything to do with the Hulk.” He offered a small shrug. “I blamed it on him initially, but...honestly, it’s really us. We’re out of sync. And these...these food games we’re playing, or whatever they are--? We need to renegotiate what we’re doing. They...don’t feel mentally healthy, right now.”

“I thought they helped at first, so I kept experimenting,” Tony said, rambling a little. “And you seemed to enjoy everything, so--”

“It’s okay, Tony.” Bruce interrupted. “It did help, and honestly? I...kinda enjoy everything we do.” 

“Everything?” He tried, he really tried to keep the dark smirk from his face, but it was an unconscious thing and he couldn’t stop it if he’d wanted to. “When you say everything, do you mean...everything?”

Bruce slowly nodded and a small blush darkened his cheeks. 

“Even the funnel stuff?”

Bruce smiled shyly. “Yeah. Even that. The hand feeding, the clothes stuff, the body worship...it’s all a little different, and some of it takes some getting used to but...it’s intimate. It’s interesting. It’s something that gets me out of my head, and helps put the past in perspective. So yeah,” he sighed, giving Tony’s hand a small squeeze. “I like all of it. But...maybe not so often, yeah? And not...not when I’m out of control.” Bruce swallowed and his eyes briefly flitted to him. 

“I pushed you,” Tony said quietly. “Beyond your comfort zone.”

“Yeah.” Bruce gave a small shrug. “I mean, sometimes I needed the push. I didn’t always know what I needed, and you helped me find that out.”

“But.”

“But,” Bruce agreed. He softly squeezed his hand again, to reassure him. “Sometimes you kept pushing when you didn’t need to.”

Tony nibbled his lips. “I should’ve asked.”

“And I should’ve told you,” Bruce said. “It’s not any one person’s fault. Neither one of us are particularly good at communicating how we feel.”

Tony slowly nodded. They let the silence linger, and when it became too awkward, he mentioned lunch, which Bruce agreed to - especially after his stomach protested loud enough for both of them to hear. He was glad they talked about it, and Bruce gave him a lot to consider; but at least now he was certain they were on the same page, and their kinks were more or less mutual (in varying degrees). Still. He also knew it was only the beginning of a much longer process.


	5. Interference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce loses it.

The breakdown took less time than Tony had anticipated.

Bruce had insisted on returning to his grotto, that fucking Hulk cave he wished he’d never built. It didn’t have anything of Bruce in it all; it was a cold, austere apartment that was, possibly, worse than what he’d had on the Helicarrier, because at least the Helicarrier room had no illusions; everyone knew that place was a prison. But this--? This was a tube of plastic with aspirations of grandeur: just large enough for a kitchen-slash-living room, a bedroom with an “unbreakable” bed, a closet, and a bathroom Bruce could barely squeeze into at his size. It pretended to be an apartment, but it wasn’t nearly that much. Looked more like a dorm room at a city college, and wasn’t much bigger than that. 

Tony’d built it that way on purpose, so Bruce would hate it. Just so he’d join the big kids’ floor. Maybe, intuitively, he’d even expected they’d become lovers, but now the place seemed like a cruel joke.

“Bruce,” Tony sighed. Bruce curled his fingers tighter into his rucksack, bolting to his cave as fast as he would’ve hit the road, but Tony knew why. Bruce had been acting distracted and irrational, and when he called him on it, Bruce almost hit him. _Almost._ He figured Bruce was headed to the Hulk prison, but he couldn’t stand seeing Bruce like this. It hurt, because despite the strides they’d made together, Bruce still clung to this godawful secret running thing. Even if he wasn’t going anywhere but the Tower.

Bruce had fidgeted at the room’s entrance, looking for all the world like his past hobo self, except for the additional hundred fifty-plus pounds.

“No.”

He placed his hands on Bruce’s shoulders. “It’s non-negotiable, man. I’m not letting you fly off without a butterfly net.”

“It’s dangerous.” Bruce shuffled to the side, and frowned as a few workmen finished adding struts to some temporary walls. “ _I’m_ dangerous, and I can’t be trusted around people anymore. And this,” he said, tapping on one of the new walls, “is structurally unsound. When I lose it--”

“There’s plenty of time for me to bolt,” Tony interrupted. “One roar, and I’ll be on my feet.” He jiggled his wrists, showing off his Iron Man bracelets. “Look, I even have the suit at my beck-and-call. No worries, man.”

“Tony...” Bruce switched his feet.

“I’ll wear PJs at night. Or, alternately, we could Skype naked--” That elicited a barking laugh. Which meant he’d won the argument, mostly. “Promise I’ll play it safe. Besides,” he nodded to the workers. “They've already set up the spare room, and a bed’ll be down here tonight. If we can’t be in our bed together, I’ll sure as hell be next door to you. That’s final. You won’t be alone.” He squeezed Bruce's shoulder. “My guy’s not gonna be alone. Ever.” He swore he saw Bruce tear up, but it could’ve been the dust. That was his excuse, in any case.

“All right." Bruce sighed and tilted his head. “It’s a horrible idea, but I’m exhausted, and I don’t have enough fight in me to argue with you.”

“Good." He beamed at him. “Your left hook is terrible anyway.”

Bruce rolled his eyes.

No, Bruce still wasn’t 100% convinced, but it was better than any other alternative. Bruce could be an incredibly private man when he wanted to be, and having SHIELD doctors taking his blood and urine samples and manufacturing drug dosages for him and hooking him up to machines at all hours...well, it took its own toll. But Tony knew it helped that he was there to ease the burden of it, and to talk with him, or get him sleeping. Or eating. Bruce stayed in his dorm regardless, and kept on the privacy locks on unless he had to see his physicians. Or Tony.

Granted, the first few days were fairly easy. Bruce gave him limited visiting privileges during the day but none at night. He didn’t like it but he adhered to Bruce's wishes, because the alternative was no Bruce time - and that was just ridiculous. But buzzing Bruce over the intercom at night and talking to him via video chats about nonsense things, or weird theories, or dumb things they collectively did in college all helped them both cope, at least 'til Bruce drifted off. Once, when he heard Bruce pacing and panting through the wall, he took a chance and broke in. Bruce was furious, but Tony'd hummed Benny Goodman tunes and they slow danced until exhaustion took its toll. But Tony only got away with the trick the one time. The second time Bruce growled, “let me pace, goddammit” and there was enough green in his eyes that he backed off. 

Still. The little things helped.

Pepper finally put them both on a month of paid administrative leave, saying they deserved it, whatever the hell that meant. Tony’d been irritated at her at first, but he realized it saved them both a lot of worry. Plus, he could keep Bruce company in his room, during the day.

Eventually, though, the pressure to do and say the right things overwhelmed Bruce, and his mood darkened, little by little, day by day. Tony had begun counting down the days like a fucking atomic clock. Almost to the hour, he knew when the break would happen. He definitely knew before Bruce did.

“Just... _fuck_ ,” Bruce growled after nearly two months of isolation. He glared daggers at the camera. “Can’t you do what I ask? Just this _one_ fucking time?”

The doctors buzzed around Tony like angry wasps, but he ignored them, favoring the man on the screen instead. Bruce’s emotions ran the gamut as he yanked fistfuls of his hair, and he watched from the lab screens while Bruce paced like a madman. “Mr. Stark,” someone murmured over his shoulder; he didn’t even turn to look. “There isn’t any time. We have to administer--”

“I know,” he snapped, even though it wasn’t the doctor’s fault. But it was like looking into a mirror, some twenty years ago. He couldn’t mistake the symptoms; he knew how Bruce was feeling. “Bruce.” He sighed into the intercom, eyes flickering to the gauges on the monitor; Bruce’s readings were wildly fluctuating. “Let the docs give you what you need, okay? If you don’t, I’ll have to break the locks. I know you locked us out and changed the password - and I respect that - but you need --”

 _“Fuck_ you,” Bruce snarled. “I don’t ‘need’ anything. I don’t need you. And fuck them, too. They have no _fucking_ clue. They keep--”

“Bruce.” He made a snap decision no one would like, but screw protocols. “I’m coming down there.” 

“No, Mr. Stark, you can’t--”

“--it’s too dangerous--”

“His condition--”

“One of us can--”

“ _No,_ ” He barked back at the doctors. “None of you can.” The way Bruce was spiraling, it was already too late. So no sense in all of them getting killed.

“But the Hulk--”

He whirled on the latest protester, who was, what, half his age? Who the fuck was she, and what did she care, really?

“Can _you_ control the Hulk?” She stumbled back at his rage, and he shot the same glare to the others in the room. “Can any of you fuckers? _No_? I thought not. My building, my call.”

His eyes flickered to the monitor as he bolted from the room, carefully catching how Bruce had begun shaking as he continued his ramble. 

“--taking, taking...they don’t care about me at all. They have no clue.” 

“Keep him on audio, J,” he said.

“Of course, Sir.”

 _“--too fucking hot,”_ he heard, once the audio followed him in the halls. He jogged a little faster to get to the express elevator, and Jarvis had it open and ready for him. His conscience had screamed at him, telling him he should’ve stayed with Bruce today, but Bruce forced him away. Bruce had been adamant, that Tony complete this one experiment for him. Something that “had to be done.”

He should’ve recognized the feint for what it was.

“--and goddamn it, quit being an asshole about it. They just--”

“Bruce.” Bruce’s voice echoed in the elevator, squeezing his heart like a tourniquet.

“--push. Worse than fucking Ross, and--”

_“Bruce.”_

“And what - what? _What,_ Tony? Fucking _what_? What do you fucking _want_?”

He paused; the elevator doors parted, but he stayed inside a beat. “Do it,” he murmured. “Let go, Bruce. It’s okay.”

“There’s nothing to--”

“Let _go_ , Bruce. _Now._ ”

The roar was the only warning, the only thing propelling him to run to Bruce’s room.

 _He_ came like a speeding freight train. The Hulk, man. The _Hulk_. And Tony was sorry he wasn’t there the exact moment Bruce changed, but he leaned against the partition of his “cage,” hearing Mr. Green rage for a good ten minutes, screaming and roaring into the air, and how _dare_ he keep him prisoner -

 _I know, Hulkie, I know,_ Tony thought. And he kept his promise to Bruce, that he wouldn’t go in when Hulk was doing his worst. He _didn’t_ promise, however, that he’d stay away. So he leaned against the intercom, waiting until Hulk snuffled and moaned and was hoarse from yelling and smashing at...nothing. Nothing but Bruce’s own fury, magnified a hundredfold.

During Hulk’s tantrum he reset the password, and waited until the grunts came every few minutes. “Hulk,” he announced over the 'com. “I’m coming in.”

He heard one huff, then two, and figured that was as much of an “okay” as he’d get.

Man...Bruce was going to murder him, once he viewed the feed.

The heavy partition swung back and he’d forgot just how small the room was, in relation to Hulk. He looked up. And up. And... _god._ Green and hairy and buck-ass nude, and oh so _goddamn beautiful._ That’s all he saw, that’s all his mind let him see. The sight of Hulk, after being without for so long, broke his genius brain in half. 

Only when Hulk pivoted and snarled, and showed off his chiclet teeth, teeth that were probably as wide as his big toenail, did Tony snap back into his own mind. “You’re gorgeous, Big Guy,” he breathed, surprising himself. He hadn’t expected to say anything. Hulk huffed once in response and growled, before turning from him and smashing into the bedroom, and dragging the bed back with him. 

“I mean it.” He took small, careful steps forward, but Hulk ignored him, preferring to stomp on a pillow. Feathers flew and covered the floor like snowflakes; Hulk huffed again and stomped, scattering more feathers about.

Tony grinned and folded his arms, but stayed a safe distance so as not to spook his friend. “Whenever you’re done, let me know. I kind of wanted to talk to you, since Bruce is out of it.”

Hulk growled softly and stomped on the bed; when Tony heard it crack, he made a face. The bed was supposed to be stronger than that. Hmm...time for a redesign.

**“Metal Man too soft.”**

Tony smirked and glanced at his hands, turning them over. “I know. I didn’t wear the suit. But we can still--”

 **“No,”** He stilled, hearing the behemoth’s frustration in the growl. This wasn’t Hulk’s world, it was Bruce’s, and it was difficult for Hulk to audibly articulate his emotions. But since he loved them both, and Hulk’s appearance was a rare treat, he’d be patient.

**“Metal Man soft on Banner. Banner _puny_.”**

He rolled his eyes, smirking. “Yeah, it’s obvious I love him, and maybe I let him get away with too much shit. Your point?”

Hulk snuffed and practically grinned. The big guy took one step towards him, poking him softly in the shoulder, but a poke from Hulk was akin to a body slam from Steve. 

He stumbled back, wincing, and rubbed the new sore spot. **“Metal Man should make Banner strong.”** Hulk thumped his own chest. **“Like Hulk.”**

“Oh, I get it,” Tony smirked. “You _liked_ fattening Bruce like it was Thanksgiving, didn’t you? You thought that’s what he needed?”

Hulk grunted once and spun back to his nest of feathers. He grabbed a pillow and tossed it into the air, and he almost laughed when feathers fell from the ceiling and tickled his nose.

Almost.

“Yeah, well. I love him as a superchub, too,” Tony confessed. “Hell, unrestrained I could stuff him ‘til he tilted the scales at a quarter ton. But you and I both know that’s not what he wants.” His smirk slowly disappeared. “I swear, Hulk. I _promise_ you, he’ll never starve you again. You have my word.”

Hulk snorted, but he didn’t seem overly convinced as he sat, cross-legged, in the center of the feather storm. Then he systematically began shredding the remainder of the pillow between his huge thumbs. **“Hulk can help more.”**

Tony shook his head. “Nah. Don’t do that. It’ll only make him madder if you keep messing with his height and weight. If he wants it, he’ll do it on his own.”

Hulk nodded. It was an impasse for both of them, more or less. **“Banner...Happy.”**

“Hopefully.” He pulled away from the door and tentatively sat next to Hulk; he felt as if he were beneath the shade of a huge California palm. “I think he’s happy, anyway, and I think he’ll stay that way if we don’t mess with him. How ‘bout you, though?” He patted Hulk’s arm. Hulk flinched at first, but allowed it. “You okay, Big Guy?”

Hulk rolled his shoulder back, almost in a shrug. **“Not matter.”**

“Of course it does,” he argued. “And when I get Bruce back, I’ll tell him it’s time to let you play some more. I think you should have more time outside of Bruce’s head, ‘cause I think you get bored in there. Being all cooped up is dangerous for both of you.”

Hulk snuffled.

“Yeah. You know it’s true." His smile softened. "I’d like to try something, if you wouldn’t mind.” He licked his lips and squeezed Hulk’s forearm (which probably felt like a mosquito to the big guy), but Hulk ignored him and continued shredding the pillow. He crawled in front of Hulk, tugged the pillow, and made some space so he could crawl into Hulk’s lap. Hulk stilled, somewhat unsure, but Tony settled back into his chest. In the end, Hulk ignored him and returned to what was left of his pillow. Yawning, Tony took in Hulk’s massive bulk while enjoying the high gamma heat radiating from Hulk’s body. Felt like a soothing sauna room. And it was safe. Well, probably. Well, maybe. Well...as long as he didn’t spend all day soaking up gamma radiation.

He chuckled and patted Hulk’s arm. “Love ya, Big Guy. You an’ Brucie both.”

\---

Next thing he knew he was freezing and something slugged his shoulder. “What the actual fuck, Tony?” They were toppled over in Hulk’s feather nest. Bruce’s voice was gravely and slurred, but he was alert. More than he should’ve been, really.

“Goddamn it, you could’ve been _killed_. Hulk could’ve killed you.”

“Told you he loved me,” Tony said, yawning. He attempted to get up, but Bruce grabbed his leg and hugged him close, until he could whisper in Tony’s ear.

“Don’t. Please don’t. Don’t ever do that again. I can’t lose you.”

“Hey, now. You won’t, babe, you won’t.” He spoke to Bruce in soothing, hushed tones, finally feeling a little guilty due to the overreaction. He thumbed Bruce’s cheek, and turned his chin so he could kiss his full lips and reassure him. He ran his other hand across Bruce’s stomach and thick bare thighs and noted, with some sadness, that Bruce’s stretch marks had disappeared. The stretch marks, and all the other marks ( _fine_ , hickies) he’d made on his boyfriend’s body had faded from view.

On the plus side, Bruce was still just as round and as paunchy as ever, so the theory that his composition would stay the same remained true, despite the missing stretch marks. Whether he liked it or not, it’d have to be enough.

Bruce suddenly buried his nose into Tony's cheek and choked down a sob. “Stay with me a while. Just stay. I need to know you’re okay, and safe, and--”

He gently shushed Bruce again, calming him. Bruce wasn’t thinking straight and probably wouldn’t for a while, but he’d do what he could; he promised. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Tony cooed. “I’m here for as long as you want.”

“I don’t want you hurt.”

He pressed his lips into Bruce’s temple, and thumbed the one, traitorous tear falling from Bruce’s eyes. “I won’t be.”

* *

It took another couple of weeks before the docs decided Bruce was stable - or rather stable enough, as long as he continued on a cocktail of drugs that would kill an average human. It wasn’t ideal, but Bruce said he felt closer to fine on it - which meant he had to be feeling better, if was making shitty Indigo Girls quips. Better still, Bruce hadn’t Hulked again through the rest of his detox, and they spent one more week in the basement after the all-clear - mostly because Bruce was such a worrywart. The other reason was to learn to navigate his new routines, and to program his new physiology into Jarvis’ database. They made a deal with SHIELD, because that was the trade off for using their doctors; Bruce would have to be monitored for a while, but after ninety days without incident they’d cut him loose. Sucked, but...it was better than being a semi-permanent SHIELD resident, they supposed. 

Through it all, he kept by his side, as promised. Keeping Bruce safe. Keeping Bruce going. Keeping him happy.

He knew eventually they had to talk about the next steps, but he wasn’t worried about it. As far as he was concerned, the worst of the storm had passed.


	6. Epilogue - Homogeneous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce, Tony, and the life-lessons of balance.

_Three weeks later._

“Okay...okay. Good.”

Bruce moved the data on the virtual template to make room for today’s report. He peered closer to the display, and noted a few changes, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Of course, most of his health panel was beyond the realm of human-normal anyway, but his readings remained steady now - and that was the important part. He nodded, silently agreeing with the data points. Although he was still on potent levels of specialized medications, eventually, he hoped, he wouldn’t need the drugs at all. His weight, his height, and his emotional well-being were all fairly stable, so maybe he was healthy enough to begin--

“Hey, Pooh Bear.”

Smiling softly, Bruce shot Tony a shoulder-smile before returning to his calculations. “Hey. Give me a minute, would you? I need to--”

“No,” Tony said, grabbing his arm. Bruce grunted several warning tones of frustration when he couldn’t complete the data input.

“Damn it,” he chided. “You’re so fucking needy.” But he kissed his boyfriend’s cheek anyway.

“You’ve been down here for hours, and what I have won’t last forever,” Tony explained. “I know what I’m like when I get busy, and you would’ve done the same thing to me. Besides, you told me to come get you at five.”

“What time is it?”

“Six-thirty. So save what you’ve got, and come on.”

Bruce laughed quietly and told Jarvis to keep his numbers. Then he lumbered after his boyfriend, to whatever fate he had in store for him.

\--

He settled into the water as Tony’s fingers smoothed through his curls. This extra-deep, extra-wide tub accommodated his larger body, which was so soothing; he’d forgotten how much he’d enjoyed baths until Tony got the new tub installed. The perfect water temperature combined with lightly scented sandalwood candles, a tray of finger foods, and Carbon Based Lifeforms piping through the speakers made him feel as limp as a rubber chicken.

“Mmmm...scalp massage, too? Don’t you dare stop. You stop, I murder you in your sleep.”

Tony huffed. “You do, and you won’t get another scalp massage, you hedonist.”

He lazily opened one eye. “Learned from the master.”

“Taught you everything I know. You’ve learned well, my padawan.”

“Mmm.”

His eyelids drooped, and Tony tugged his scalp. “Hey, don’t fall asleep in there. I still have a full evening planned.”

“Yeah?” He glanced up, hiding his smile, and popped a crostini slathered with a spinach artichoke dip in his mouth. “Should I ask?” 

“It starts and ends with chocolate. That’s all you need to know.”

He chewed and swallowed before chuckling darkly and grabbing a handful of grapes; in seconds, he'd made short work of the fruit. “If your aim is to fatten me up, you’re a little late.” Tony moved his hands to add more hot water to the bath. Bruce whined as Tony took too much time adjusting the temperature, but he poked around for a prosciutto finger sandwich while waiting. 

_Well,_ he thought, chewing slowly. _Don't be a coward, Banner. This would be the best time to talk about it._

He finished the tiny sandwich in one, careful swallow. “Tones--?”

“Yeah?” Tony turned off the tap, and grabbed a strawberry off the fruit tray. And, sensing that their exchange was about to turn to something longer, he grabbed a side chair, propped it next to the tub, and straddled it backwards.

Bruce looked down and swirled his fingers in the tub. “You do know that I’m...not exactly happy, right?”

The strawberry hovered between Tony’s chin and lips. “With me?”

He shook his head. “No. Not you. I mean with my size. I’m not talking triggers, though.” He sighed, and grabbed a cheese cube. “My hormone levels are balancing out, and I’m more or less ‘me’ again, without all the artificial serotonin.”

“But--?” Tony prompted.

He ate the cheese and took a few moments to gaze at his body through the distorted reflection of the bath water. “Don’t get me wrong, I like who I am.” And he did, he honestly did; even after fighting with Hulk and finding balance, he continued reclaiming the word “fat” and making it his, all over again. It was still part of him. It was still his word. Renewed, and reclaimed anew.

“But. I’m...I think I’m _too_ big, Tony. For me, anyway. Will you...” He sighed and softly squeezed his midsection under the water. “Look, will you be alright if I lost a little of this blubber?”

“That’s your call, not mine,” Tony said too quickly. Too sharply. He quickly popped the strawberry in his mouth. “I’ve always said you’re driving the bus, and I’m along for the ride.”

“Don’t.” Bruce briefly glanced at Tony and wasn’t surprised to see a steely, well-controlled expression. Dragging his hand from the tub water, he rubbed Tony’s arm; huge water droplets rolled down Tony’s hand and back into the water. 

“We sort of talked about it, but I think...it’s time to come to a consensus.” Tony held his expression, but up close, Bruce observed small tics jumping in Tony’s cheek. “I know you unearthed some unexpected kinks with my size. I’ve seen your face after I’ve put on a few more pounds than expected, or when I’ve gotten stuck someplace. Or when I’ve outgrown some clothes - you love it. Admittedly, I like it too, sometimes. But from what I gathered from Hulk, I suspect you’d like to see more. You wanna see me bigger, yeah...? Five hundred pounds, or around there - isn’t that what you said?”

Tony’s cheeks darkened and he switched uncomfortably in his seat. “Well, not exactly. I mean, kinda, but...” Tony shrugged and turned away.

Bruce squeezed Tony’s arm. “I’m not upset about it. Really, I’m not. I’m...it’s flattering, I guess, in some sense.” He waited for Tony’s halting chuckle to subside. “Yeah, physically, it’s _possible_ , and I’d probably be fine, apart from moving around as fast as a fat tortoise.” He let out a low, resigned sigh. “With all the physical and metabolic changes I’ve gone through, I have a heightened propensity for putting on a lot of weight, and it’d be easy to get that huge. But right now that isn’t what I want, and I need you to respect that. Okay?”

“God, Bruce, do you really think I’d--” Tony’s face crumpled. “Bruce, your body’s yours, always has been. I’m just glad you’re finally at peace about it.” Tony kissed his temple. “I told you I’d love you at any size, and I meant it. Have more faith in me than that.”

He dipped his head. “I figured, but...I had to say something.”

“Understood.” Tony leered at him. “Can’t say I won’t fantasize, though.”

Bruce barked awkwardly and slowly shook his head. “You’re insane.”

“But you love me anyway?”

“Of course.”

“Good.”

Bruce closed his eyes again when Tony’s fingers wound back in his scalp. He expected Tony had more to say, but he could wait to hear it. Especially since he was falling back asleep.

“Bruce?”

He sighed sleepily. “Hm?”

Tony took a while to speak. Long enough that he felt the alpha waves tugging at him again. 

“Back to where you were?”

It took Bruce a minute or two to get what Tony meant. Then a drowsy grin pinked his lips. “I think a bit under 300 pounds, give or take. A hundred thirty kilograms is a good, round number; despite all the self-loathing, I felt comfortable at that weight.”

He bit back a smile at Tony’s relieved sigh.

“Okay. So, what about your height?”

Making a face, Bruce twirled his fingers in the cooling water. “I dunno. I think...it’s a little complicated, although it’s basically the same flood of gamma. But it’s not similar.” He pulled a strawberry from the tray and munched thoughtfully. “We - Hulk and I - would have to consciously make that decision while I’m changing back...it’s a whole lot easier to pack on the pounds because it’s a normal, natural body function with or without increases in hormone production. The height thing may have been accidental on Hulk’s part, while messing around with my somatotrophin levels.” He shrugged. “I guess if I shrink, I shrink. Otherwise, I’m okay being a little taller.”

“Hm.”

Bruce laughed. “You liked it when I was shorter, didn’t you?”

Tony scoffed. “Of course I did! It was easier to tuck you under my chin. Now, it’s like you’re wearing goddamn heels twenty-four seven.”

“You’ll get used to it." Tony flicked water in his face, and he splashed him back. “Besides, you still get to play with my flab." He grabbed a hunk of his gut and jiggled it in the water. “That’s gotta be some compensation.”

A new blush crept up Tony’s cheeks. _Yep,_ Bruce thought, as a small simper crossed his lips. _My tubby self still turns you on, in a major way._

“Don’t be too upset, it’s not all going away. But,” he held up a warning hand, “I want my weight on my terms, with my preferences...as it should’ve been in the first place. I’ll be less ‘squishy,’ but there’ll still be plenty of me.” He had a theory, that transitioning to the Hulk would be less traumatic if he weighed at least 115 kilograms, and he was more than okay with staying at that size.

Tony tipped his head like a magpie. “And Hulk? What does he think about it?”

“You already know what he thinks.” Bruce tapped his temple. “You two talked. He thinks bigger is better too, but then he would.” He sighed and sank deeper into the tub. He fluffed a bubble around his fingers and flicked it towards his toes, and made a face at the water. “As long as I don’t endanger us again, he’s going to let me do what I want. But I also won’t do anything crazy, like take up sprinting. Walking, weights, and yoga. That’s more my speed.”

“Good. God forbid you go Barton’s route. Or Steve’s.”

Bruce laughed loudly, and was surprised at how good it felt, to truly laugh like he meant it. “Oh, _hell_ , no. I wasn’t the athletic type when I was skinny.” He popped another crostini in his mouth and kept talking with his mouth full. “The most I ever did was learn some martial arts, though...I guess it could be fun to repeat some of the forms. I wonder if my bigger size would put me at an advantage, or a disadvantage with some of the disciplines.”

Tony moistened his lips. “I’d watch you practice.”

“I’m sure you would." He grabbed a few grapes from the tray and crammed them in his mouth. “A big guy like me, doing a slow kata? You’d be in heaven.” Chuckling, he swallowed the fruit, but a small nudge in the back of his mind gave him pause. His smile faded a little when he stared back into the water. 

“I...ah. I remember."

Tony blinked. “Remember?”

“You, um. You also spoke to Hulk about coming out more often.”

“Oh.” Tony rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, I did. I think it’s a good idea, Bruce. I think you’d both benefit from it.”

Bruce sniffed but let Tony reach over him, to run the tap. “I really wish you hadn’t said anything. Hulk's still too young. You have no idea what he might do. He’s a _child_ , Tony.”

“We barely act like adults ourselves, Bruce,” Tony countered. “Seriously, we build metal suits just to watch them explode. No other reason.”

“Other than saving people’s lives.”

“Some of that, too," Tony admitted. "But you know what I mean. You keep saying you don’t trust Hulk, but I think you do. You’re like a parent handing their kid off to the babysitter for the first time. Or the daycare. You’re so afraid either your kid’ll mess up or act up that you forget that all they care about is having fun.”

“Except people die. He gets out, and people fucking _die_. No other toddler is a mass murderer.”

“And neither is Hulk,” Tony parried. He briefly massaged Bruce's shoulder, even though Bruce wanted to continue fighting. But Bruce found he couldn’t, as the tension bled from him. “Everything bad Hulk did, every time, was because he’d been provoked and he didn’t know how to react.” He made a face, building his courage to argue again, but Tony barreled over him. “ _Toddlers_ do that. If anyone had a nine-foot toddler who could toss cars, you know they’d being acting out just like Hulk. Just think about it, okay? Think about it, before you lock him back in your head cage. He’s not a monster, Bruce, he’s a _baby_.”

Tony had a point. He hated considering it, but...wasn’t it true? Wasn’t Hulk effectively his child? Maybe it was time to teach him what he needed to know, the same as any patient father would.

He felt Hulk rumble quietly in agreement.

“I’ll think about it,” he muttered. He knew he’d say yes eventually, but later. After Tony believed he’d mulled it over. Their Wall had been destroyed, and even as he carefully rebuilt his side, it would never be the same. He and Hulk had become changed entities. More of each other now, less of who they once were. Hulk could hear his thoughts, but Bruce heard his, too.

It was an odd feeling, but strangely comforting. He was less fearful of losing control, and Hulk was more understanding of his plight. So that was something, wasn’t it? Could it really be possible to work something out--?

“Hey." Tony squeezed his shoulder again. “You disappeared on me.”

“Sorry. What did I miss?”

“I just said,” Tony chuckled, kissing the top of his head, “that I love you, no matter what you decide. And that your eyes went all heterogeneous again.”

Bruce closed his eyes as a small smile pinched his cheek. Hulk would always be listening when he heard his name. It was natural, now, but it was okay; he was getting used to their dual pact. 

When he opened his eyes again, he knew they had returned to their brown hues. “I know you love me. I love you too, you know.”

“Are we gonna turn into those weird couples that hold hands in the park and keep kissing ‘til our lips go all numb?”

“I hope not." A small laugh bubbled from Bruce's chest, causing the water to jump and swirl around him. He gazed at the bubbles for a beat, seeing his heavier self reflected back. Seeing how far he’d come, and what strides - for good, and bad. He was no longer Brian Banner’s sick little mistake. 

He was himself.

And he wasn’t all that bad.

They talked until the water grew tepid, but warm enough so he didn’t feel the chill in the air. Later, Tony plied him with chocolate sweets and fondues, and he was content. This was what he wanted. He’d found it: Peace, contentment...and a body that was larger than most, perhaps, but it was finally, ultimately, his - and he liked the person he’d become in these past few years.

Perhaps in the end, that’s all anyone ever needed to be truly happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last piece in the series, but I may revisit this universe from time to time. If you’re a regular reader, thanks for joining me on this journey. :)


End file.
